The Spider Willow | Home Thread

[Abattoir]

[OOC:: Itsy's home! Anyone can drop by to visit; I'll keep it updated, & intend to keep it going. It may devolve into a oneshot(ill update the prefix if so) if no one responds. A joiner!]

 

'Golden threads touching from root to leaf, rigid in the breeze..'

  Itsy continues to write, poetic freeform being painted down into the journal with an inky mixture of local plants, silt, willow sap for scent, & the fine shimmer of her wettest silk. She is merely idling in her thoughts. Patiently waiting for inspiration to strike her; she wants to weave something, some item of clothing for the cracked plastic bust so carefully tucked away in the canopy of her willow tree.

  She hangs, upside down, slender legs delicately gripping onto the gnarled branches, a weathered clay pot swaying gently beside her as it hangs on a single thread, filled with her homemade ink. She dips the end of he tarsus into into occasional, using the haired appendage to write. The substance is very particularly made & so does not much bother her easily overwhelmed sense of touch. Golden spider silk stretches here & there with her personal items stuck to them. Cloth, carved wooden dolls, a rusted needle, pots, herbs, human clothing, flowers, & one wolf-sized lump squirming as it hangs from the sturdiest of branches. &, of course, a plethora of male spiders attracted by her pheromones.

  Strands of her web stretch from the tree to across the flooded area surrounding her tree, reaching out into the forest. Her web spans a roughly half a square mile. Carefully eaten, respun, & maintained each day. The spider gently touches a leg to seemingly random threads leading off to the rest of her web, hypersensitive sense of touch on alert for any vibrations.

  Itsy waits for someone nearby to pass & disturb her web. She is in want of a bit of company.