The Sentinels revenge is in the creator's hands

As if summoned by the declarations made privately by the sea-brutes, Spider materialized in the burntwood, keeping her slight frame to the shadows as she peered towards the sound of voices she could not distinguish at first as a conversation. From her angle she could see only one wolf— a mass of immutable onyx, hooded white— and beside him was an amorphous wraith whose dimensions she could not make out with the titan eclipsing him.

A tense, feverish desire coursed through her; and she knew she would claim them, so that she might secure herself a meal-ticket for the coming cold season.

The little scourge dug her claws into the ash-soaked loam, giving pause to apprehension for a brief spell, before employing a cat-like slink to emerge in the distant peripheral of the impressionably-aged males. She was brave enough to present herself, but not so cavalier as to come within striking distance just yet.

With a small wiggle, and a lilting whine, she urged them both to let her nearer.