"Oh oh, you mustn't pull so hard!" The spider whined and spun her web faster.

"Do not complain when the muse is at work. This will be my greatest work yet," he exclaimed. In spite he gave the endless thread and unforgivable tug and sewed faster on the tedious corner. In, wrap, swoop, pull, out again.

"Hmph, about as great as last place has ever looked!" She cut her thread and scuttled on top of the bundle of string behind the little man.

"Must you rub it in everyday?" He tied off the prize winning mat and waved the needle as his sword.

The black spider climbed upon the wall and out of reach in the corner of the little crevice. "As long as I am the secret to your recipe then I will rub it as I please. For now, I hunger."

"Oh you eight armed tramp!"

"Widow. And if you press me further I will end this partnership as I do my marriages." Her pincers clamped greedily and drooled into the elegant patterns of her web. He chose this widow hoping that the majesty of web would translate to his own art, but so far it was a lost cause. So far he was only looking to be ensnared by the wonders of her own brilliant mind as decorative bones dotting her home.