"It's hardly time for that," said Spinipes. "To-morrow, p'raps. To-day I feed myself."
"There's lucerne on the slope," the Ophion said, "and something underneath you."
"Good hunting, sister!" said the Ophion Fly
There was a snap and flicker in the grass, and presently appeared a pygmy beetle, long-snouted, dusty-coated, trailing its slow legs wearily.
"D'you see it?" said the Ophion Fly.
"I see it, but what of it?"
"It means good hunting, sister. Green grubs, black-headed, fatted. Too small for me, but just the size for you. You'll find them in the lucerne."
"Thank you," said Spinipes, but she was half across the field, a dancing, filmy wisp of pink, wind-borne.
A meal, and then to work, thought Spinipes. It must be done by sunset. It must. It must.