Pirk had run out, and Morachion was increasingly restless. He would spin a new web, that is what he would do. But where? The orcs would want to get to the prisoners in the main room, but the room with the children- that would do. The orcs guarding that room had run off with Pirk. There was only one orc standing outside the entrance keeping the prisoners from escaping.
Morachion climbed to the roof of the entryway to the childrens' caverns, and carefully stuck a string to a rock. He forgot himself in his work, spinning the traditional pattern of concentratic circles. It was perhaps the only beautiful thing that such a hideous race could design. Before long, an impassible, sticky barrier blocked the entrance to the room.
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