Once upon a time, the Everfree forest was a terrifying location Fluttershy dared not venture into.
Those days were long behind her now. She walked through the trees, following the path for now, and smiled at the memory of how scary the place had once been. Now, with Twilight’s coronation coming up, the forest felt more like an extension of her backyard. Yes, there were still creatures like timberwolves lurking in its depths, but with the renovations to the old castle and the increased hoof traffic, they were much more wary about harassing ponies these days. And Fluttershy had enough friends in the forest that everything else knew to leave her alone.
Today, she was heading to a little-known grove near the castle. Rarity had asked for a favor—she wanted star spider silk for Twilight’s coronation gown, and had asked Fluttershy to retrieve it. There was a whole colony of the creatures inside the forest, and Fluttershy was certain that with a little persuasion, she could convince at least a few of them to help Rarity with her work.
Fluttershy followed the path until she neared the castle, but when she gauged the distance to be about right, she turned off the path and headed deeper into the woods. The forest darkened as she headed deeper under the canopy, but enough light filtered through that she could make her way without losing her footing. She’d spoken to enough critters to know the approximate location of the spider grove, and she was sure she’d be able to spot it if she got close.
For now, she was content with the pleasant hike through the early afternoon forest. Birds chirped all around her, sending greetings and warnings and messages through the treetops. The smell of moss and flowers filled her nose, and in the distance she could hear a rumbling growl—a predator telling something, ‘Stay back! I’m dangerous!’ All of them told her the forest was healthy and functioning. Even the predator was an important part, and while she noted the direction, she wasn’t worried about it coming after her.
It had been less than an hour since she left the path that she spotted her first web. It had an irregular pattern to it, and she slowed as she approached the tree, spotting the brown recluse lurking at the edges. “Hello, little one,” she called up, cautious but friendly. The brown recluse was venomous enough to be dangerous to ponies, but was unlikely to attack if she didn’t disturb its home. “I’m looking for the spider grove. Is it nearby?”
The spider crept out from the shadows, quickly lowering itself down to pony height on a thin strand of webbing. It chittered at Fluttershy, waving its legs at her.
Fluttershy frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmured. “I’m sure it wasn’t personal, and your new home here seems to be quite lovely. I can ask them to let you come back if you tell me where to find them, though?”
The spider chittered again, and then sent out a line of thread that attached itself to Fluttershy’s nose. Fluttershy resisted the urge to sneeze as the spider climbed over to her muzzle and then up her snout to rest in her mane. Even though it was friendly, it wouldn’t do to startle it, not when those fangs were so close to her eyes. Once it was settled, it chittered again, and Fluttershy set off once more. She’d only been looking for directions, but it was nice to have a guide.
It wasn’t long before she started seeing more webs scattered through the trees. Soon, she had to slow her pace to avoid them, as they’d often be stretched between trees at head height, forcing her to go around or carefully duck under them. She kept an eye out for their owners, but none of them were star spiders. The recluse in her mane kept up a helpful stream of commentary in her ear, and once even stopped her from walking right into a web she hadn’t seen. She apologized profusely to its irate owner, and went around.
There was a sudden flash of movement at her hooves, and she let out a startled eep. A trapdoor spider was latched onto one of her hooves. She hadn’t seen the trapdoor, of course, but she was surprised the spider thought she was prey. She raised her hoof up and smiled at the little thing. “Sorry for disturbing you,” she murmured. “I think I might be a bit too big for you, though.” She smiled at the confused arachnid, and then placed it carefully back on the ground, where it skittered back into its hole and closed the door behind it.
As the webs grew more numerous, she started seeing more and more of them on the trees or in the branches nearby. Her presence had been noticed, and now there was a small swarm pacing her in the trees, watching. She stopped and looked up at them, clearing her throat. “Hello, everyone,” she announced. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt any of your homes. I’m looking for star spiders. Do you know if any are nearby? I’d like to talk to them.”
There was an eruption of chittering from above, and Fluttershy frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry, could you—” she lost her train of thought, and tried again. “I can’t really understand you when you’re all talking like that. Could you, uh, go one at a time?”
This did not have the desired effect. The spiders switched from talking to her, to arguing with each other. Soon, they began to descend upon her, each trying to get her attention. “Oh, uh, that’s—oh, that tickles!” She squirmed as they started crawling over her, trying not to move her hooves too much—she didn’t want to accidentally crush any of them! The recluse in her mane chittered possessively as others grew closer, and started aggressively clacking its fangs. “Oh no,” Fluttershy murmured. “Could you—all of you—please, STOP!”
Her voice echoed out in the sudden silence, as the spiders froze. “I know you’re trying to help,” she said gently. “But this isn’t working. You.” She picked a spider on the tree trunk in front of her, carefully pointing with her hoof. “Do you know where I can find star spiders?”
Slowly, by picking out one individual at a time, Fluttershy was able to get a clearer picture. Star spiders kept to themselves, and didn’t come out much when it wasn’t their mating season. But there was a small group deeper in the grove. Several individuals insisted that the deep grove was “not for ponies” but she assured them she wouldn’t disturb anything. Soon enough, most of the spiders had scattered, their curiosity sated.
Fluttershy brushed several lingering strands of webbing away from her face, but a quick glance back at her mane and tail was enough to make it clear they were a lost cause. She was covered in webbing, and a quick brush wasn’t going to cut it. She’d just have to deal with it when she got back to the cottage.
She continued deeper. The gloom intensified as the trees grew closer together, and years of old webbing blocked out the sun. Soon she could barely see, and she moved slowly and carefully, brushing through abandoned webs. There was constant movement in the darkness, and a spider would crawl over her back or between her hooves at irregular intervals. The nice, orderly webs of the outer grove were absent here—there were too many spiders in too small an area, constantly building and breaking and building again. Here, they treated her like any other solid piece of the forest, crawling over her and attaching lines to her back, only for them to break again as she kept moving forward.
Even knowing the spiders weren’t dangerous, and that they knew why she was here, the experience was unsettling. She never knew when she’d brush through a curtain of silk, or when the next set of tiny legs would dart across her fur. An innovative spider nestled itself in one of her wings and started spinning strands between individual feathers. She couldn’t fly in this gloom anyway, so she didn’t tell it to stop. Instead she just shivered as she felt it crawling through her wings and kept moving.
She didn’t know how to tell when she’d reached what the spiders called the deep grove. The recluse in her mane had gone still and silent, but she figured she would know it when she saw it. Besides, star spiders and their webbing glowed in the dark, so they’d be easy to spot. She hoped.
Suddenly, her heart leapt into her throat. Her hoof came down expecting more forest floor, and instead had found only empty air. She teetered on the edge for a heart-stopping moment, and tried to spread her wings to steady herself. They moved sluggishly, stuck together with spider silk, and it wasn’t fast enough. She tipped over and fell, tumbling head over haunches.
Something stopped her fall almost immediately. It was thin, springy, sticky. She wriggled, but while her struggles shook the webbing, it refused to break. It held her suspended, a massive web strung over some even larger pit. “Hello?” she called out, her voice trembling. “I’m… I didn’t mean to… is anycreature there?”
There was a rustling, and something moved in the darkness. Fluttershy couldn’t make out any details, other than that it was big. Much bigger than any spider had any right to be. “Hello?” she called out again. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to fall into your nest. Please let me go.”
The creature paused, and then there was a deep, chitinous clack. A single word.
“Well… because it was an accident! I don’t mean you any harm. I’m just looking for star spiders.” Fluttershy wriggled again and tried to spread her wings, but it only served to tangle her up further. She didn’t know what had happened to the spiders in her wing and mane. Perhaps they had fallen off, or perhaps they had fled, but she couldn’t feel them any more.
There was another ponderous clack, and then the creature came close enough for Fluttershy to see. She gasped at the sheer size of it. It was a spider, but a massive one. She could just make out its body, bigger than her entire person, in the dim gloom. Its mandibles were slick with something, hovering near her head, and its eight eyes glinted in the faint light. Fluttershy gulped, meeting the spider’s gaze and feeling very small.
“I didn’t want to do this,” she muttered, her eyes widening as she fixed the spider with her Stare. All she had to do was show it no fear, and it would release her.
The spider paused, its eyes glinting at her. And then it clicked its mandibles and was moving again. It pulled a line of silk from its spinnerette, its long prickly legs taking hold of her as it began to wrap her in silk.
The hope in Fluttershy’s chest died. It manipulated her so easily, and she was helpless to do anything about it. Her forelegs were soon bound to her chest, and her wings crushed awkwardly to her back, and nothing she said or did stopped it. Tears welled in her eyes. The creatures of the forest were supposed to be her friends, and now they had turned against her. “Please!” she called out, desperate. “Anyone! Help me!”
The spider ignored her, wrapping her tightly in an imprisoning cocoon. Fluttershy thrashed and screamed, but the thick silk was too strong, and would not break. Her heart hammered in her chest as the spider worked, and nothing came to her aid.
The silk closed over her head, and she tried one last time to break the threads encasing her. But then she fell limp, unable even to scream.
The spider returned to its home, pulling its latest meal down with it.
