EKTON

"The Web of Fate calls those who fly." [Parable of the Spider]. Michael Watt was three years old. He sat on the grass and stared at the spider. It wove its web of sticky cunning, then sat unmoving. As if waiting for time to begin it's infinite melody. Lines ran straight and some were curved. Michael sensed that the spider hunter could see them all, though the insect was gazing directly into his own young eyes. Every line led nowhere or somewhere. Each line was connected to every other. For such is life, though at 3 times 365 days, the cobweb seemed just a picture, a something, that glistened in the bright sun. A darting dot glided past catching the corner of the boy's eye. Still the dark spider sat like a rock. Then the dot which was a fly buzzed softly, sending tunes out into the air. As Michael turned towards the prey, he realised the fly was heading straight for the web. Almost as if it wished to dive into the glistening net. It crashed in silence, as the sticky lines wrapped themselves around the little flyer. As it wriggled the web closed tighter, tighter. Still the spider had not moved and Michael saw it was staring straight at his face. He shuddered then saw the spider's leg twitching, pulled by a line from the writhing fly. "Do you see my power?" Michael felt the spider whisper.