Chapter Text
Spiders hate cold.
That is no secret, and it's not alarming either when Webber and Shamura go missing, only to be found in the eldest's tent, covered by a bunch of stolen blankets, sleeping soundly. Or, well, it is when it's the first time.
Spiders, when facing cold temperatures, will go in near-hibernation, slowing their metabolism and activity in order to save energy. If they had been breeds of arctic spiders, they would have used cryoprotection, where the spider produces sugar and sugar alcohol in its blood to protect it from ice crystals forming, but they are NOT, and they are very sensitive to the terribly cold winters of this wretched land.
As said before, the two leaders had searched for the two missing followers, with the unexpected but not unwelcomed help of the other bishops, only to find them in Shamura's wide tent, curled up together like parent and baby under soft -- and stolen -- blankets. The noise made by footsteps on snow and the sound of the tent's flaps behind harshly lifted, along with the chill that came from the outside, stirred awake the eldest, who half-opened their eyes to glare at the intruders while Webber could not be awakened by a storm. Shamura made a questioning "hm?" sound when their eyes got somewhat used to the light and saw The Goat, with behind them, Kallamar.
"See! I told you we had nothing to worry about. They did worse back then," Kallamar whispered-shouted first at the otherworldly being.
"Hey, I'm allowed to worry!" they defended, equally whisper-shouting, before rolling their eyes and doing a dismissive gesture. "Just go tell Lamby we found them," they ended up saying. To everyone's surprise, Kallamar obeyed, not without complaining, though.
Shamura had long since settled their head back down, not bothering to be wary with them. Their eyes shot open when a warm hoof met their face. The Goat was sitting right beside the blanket-spiders burrito, reaching out and gently caressing their face. Neither of them were particularily used to touch, but the horned one was often the one to engage it.
The purple arachnid relaxed in the touch, and not a word was exchanged when they shifted themself and Webber to be against the new god, a paw outside of the cocoon, holding the purple fleece, enjoying the warmth provided by the mammal.
"Now you're clingy? That's new, I might get used to that," the goat teased with a huff, earning a sharp tug at their cloak.
"Retrain yourself of speech, little beast. Do not put this moment to waste," they warned, although, resting in a blanket burrito with their child glued to them, they didn't look as frightening as usual.
The Goat chuckled quietly, and remained silent, until their crime buddy came, sliding in only the white and grey head to peek inside. They didn't say anything, just looked at the scene before smiling knowingly at their companion then disappearing behind the flaps. The black goat grumbled under their breath before settling down against the cozy cocoon, back turned to the entranced, knees bent so it was lazily around the spiders' heads. Once fully comfortable, their hand found Shamura's, and they may have taken a quick nap of, what, a full afternoon? Nothing, really.