She'd woken up in a bower of spider webs, and been too entranced by the movement of the tiny weavers to do anything more than watch. Watch...and watch...and watch...every movement was precise, every movement was calculated, and every movement was grace and style combined. She found herself...trying to figure out what they were doing. And why. And as she lay there in the leaf mold watching the spiders above her, she knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to be in stories. She wanted to be in so many stories. She wanted to be anything for anyone else. How? Why? She didn't know. But it was what she wanted to be. Slowly, carefully, she wriggled out of the hollow and set on the road.That had been...how long ago? Two weeks. Yes, two weeks ago. And now she found herself returning to her spider web nest, pondering how the future would go. And found, to her surprise, that her nest was now occupied. She squeaked and jumped back. Well, maybe that was rude. Maybe that was impolite. Maybe that wasn't fair, after all, if she'd woken up there, who was to say no one else could? May be he had also woken up here. She would have thought, though, that like her, anyone who woke up in here would be colored like the spiders above. But apparently that was a silly vanity, because this one was marked with swirling clouds and streaks like lightning. There had been a thunderstorm a few days ago. It had been terrifying. And this B'alam was marked like it, but with leathery wings over his head and tiny fangs somewhere in size between Udide's own fearsome chompers and the average B'alam's mouth-knives. So he was an odd duck--but he was sleeping in her bed, and she could let someone sleep in her bed. He must be exhausted to be twitching and snoring like that. Poor thing.