There was little keeping the girl in line when the ridge pack was concerned. She was adrift in a sea of her own thoughts, her own plots. Her spidery limbs took her out of the bramble-infested forest, where the ocean breathed thick sighs across the boughs; something Bayou was not accustomed to.
She sought out the forest first. The place where her black body had once roosted prior to being discovered by the pack's leader; and from that point her route forked northward. The spider sought out the river's edge, where she sat looming over an inky, messy reflection. Her lip curled at the sight of it.
"All legs," her mother used to remark to her, "Built like a spider, that one."
Narrow snout with shining teeth, which when exposed showed an array of tangled fur and meat still caught in the scissor-grip. Bayou's tongue snaked out and picked at these morsels, gathering them in a lump upon her tongue, and then swallowing.
Her belly had grown full as she pilfered through the caches.
But still, the spider's body did not appear strong or able. It was all hard edges and sharp contours; curving ribs and pointed hips. The girl flashed a sharp eyed glare at herself as she stood, stretched, and carried on her way - following the edge of the river, albeit without turning to stare at herself any longer.
The shadow wandered lazily, her body sulking low.