She tries to work her way free

Moving her head as little as possible, Lux eyes her escape route. The camp isn’t that big. Even numbed and cramped from lying bound like this, she’s confident she can outpace the mites on foot. It’s just a matter of getting free, and running for it. No reason to get fancy.

She tries tugging on the web with her arm. It barely budges – just enough elasticity to be as strong as it needs to be. Raw muscle won’t get her out of this. An ogre would have a tough time.

Patience. Slowly, she works her wrist, flexing, testing how the webbing shifts. Now she can hook a fingernail under the first layer, pick at it – peeling away a few strands. With the web under her, she can free an arm without falling. And with an arm free…

The prickling sensation up and down her back grows stronger as she works, but there’s little sound, no sign of movement. Maybe the spider is sleeping. Do spiders sleep? Trivial thoughts keep Lux’s mind busy while she works on instinct, freeing herself little by little…

There! One last layer of strands snaps, and her hand is free. She whispers a hurried cantrip and casts a droplet of acid at the mass holding her other arm, weakening it. Now that hand pulls free, and she can work on her legs…

Biting her tongue to silence any sound of effort, she tears herself out of the web. That didn’t go unnoticed. There’s a skittering sound and she sees movement on the edge of her vision. She turns.

Even though she was expecting it, it’s a shock to see the spider. As big as she is, slender-limbed and nimble, its many eyes locked on her as it poises to strike. Its darting movements strike fear in some animal part of Lux’s brain. But as guards go, it can’t cry out, can’t raise the alarm. She has a chance.

For a silent moment, she and the spider watch each other, tensed. Inhuman as it is, she can tell it’s afraid of her, only acting on an instinct to defend its nest and the mites. She conjures fire, ready to ward it off and run—

Then, pain – sharp, stabbing, piercing into the soft skin of her asscheek. A cold sensation followed by sudden heat. She screams out loud, feeling a rush of muted panic as she knows now she’s alerted the whole camp. But that’s the least of her problems. Her legs wobble under her, their strength failing. At first, she thinks another unseen spider bit her, but her searching hand finds something stuck into her wounded flesh – a small barb, or dart. What…?

Her vision blurs, doubles, as she struggles to keep her footing. Shouts echo through the rising fog in her head. She can see ugly little blue men clamouring around, pointing, threatening, grabbing…