An end to the pain. That was what Steady As It Goes sought, after a fashion. The creature ahead loomed amongst the shadows. He could just about make out the details: crooked limbs on pincer tips; twitching weaver’s fingers; a wetly spooling spinneret. Steady dug his heels in. He wrapped his metal-shod fingers ‘round the oozing strand attached to his chest. Wrestling against the figure’s pull, he staggered to his feet.