She found cover in a scoop of land where the whey had receded, leaving behind a bowl lined with old leaves and the shrapnel of previous runs. Above, a canopy of broken willow branches filtered the worst of the spore drizzle. It wasn’t safe—nowhere was—but it would do for the work ahead.

  Muffet prepared her kit with surgeon’s precision. Glass vials clicked into the mud, the sampler rod wiped clean on a strip of her own sleeve. She sat cross-legged, the way Stewart had taught her—back to a wall, hands always visible, gear sorted left to right by use. The routine calmed her, brought the fear gauge down to a steady yellow.

  The first step was to analyze the sample. Muffet popped the seal, held the vial up to the dim light, and watched the contents settle. The blue-white fungus writhed in the whey, extending and retracting cilia as if probing for a way out. She dipped a pipette and drew off a droplet, then spread it onto a slide made from a chunk of old plastic. The moment the spore hit open air, it sent up a puff of vapor—subtle, but visible. She made a note: “Volatile. Avoid inhalation.”

  Next, the curd. Muffet still had a third of a ration left, crusted but edible. She scraped it into a mixing dish and ground it with the butt end of a screwdriver until it went from crumbly to smooth. The smell was foul—sickly sweet, with a top note of rot—but she ignored it.

  She added the fungus next, drop by drop. The mixture fizzed, then settled into a paste the color of rotten teeth. She cut in a pinch of blue-green mineral from her earlier forage, using it as a catalyst. The result: a salve that hardened within seconds of exposure, forming a crusty, protective layer over whatever it touched.

  “Test it,” Stewart said. His voice was almost bored now, a sign he approved.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Muffet scooped a dab onto the back of her hand. It stung, but didn’t burn. She waited, then scraped at it with the blade of her scalpel. The layer flexed but didn’t break. She pressed harder; still no breach. She grinned.

  “Layer it thicker on your extremities,” Stewart advised. “They’ll be most exposed if something grabs you.”

  She did, coating her fingers and forearms in overlapping bands. The salve set fast, forming an ugly but brutal gauntlet. She flexed her fingers. Range of motion dropped a little, but the protection was worth it.

  Next: air filtration. The spores in the Marsh weren’t just a nuisance; they were lethal in high enough concentrations. Muffet rummaged through her kit, coming up with a fragment of old chitin—probably exoskeleton from one of the larger bugs. She shaped it, then laced it with strips of mycelial coagulant, forming a crude mask.

  She tested it by holding it to her face and breathing deeply. The air tasted like bitter almonds, but nothing got through. She smiled, then let go.

  The mask burned through within a minute.

  She cursed, then set to work making a second version, this time doubling the chitin layers and weaving in strips of fungus for added absorption. She ran a small test using a controlled spore cloud, watching as the mask filtered out most of the particulate matter. Not perfect, but better.

  Muffet checked the UI. A new notification pulsed at the edge:

  CRAFTED: VENOM-RESISTANT GAUNTLETS (TEMPORARY)

  +15 ACID RESISTANCE, -5 DEXTERITY

  She equipped the gear, feeling the weight and stiffness settle over her hands and arms. The mask she kept ready, knowing it wouldn’t last the whole run. She pocketed the spare, along with a thumb-sized lump of the hardening salve.

  Inventory updated, she repacked the kit and rose, testing the grip of her new gauntlets on the scalpel and sampler rod. The world looked the same, but she felt different—armored, if only a little.

  She stepped out of the hollow, ready for whatever the Marsh had next.

  Stewart’s voice followed: “Remember your route. Stick to high ground. If you have to run, ditch the mask first. The gauntlets might buy you time, but not much.”

  She nodded, then moved, confident and alone, deeper into the venom zone.