This life

He had stumbled upon her dragline, and, little aware of the power of pheromones, found himself coyly entreated to follow it until he espied her in the distance, busily emitting a silken web from her abdominal spinneret. He began to strum the thread, and she declined even to turn and face him, instead violently shaking the web to ward him off. But he had one purpose, borne of an instinct stronger than survival, and he plunged across the quivering web toward her. He could feel that he was handling the awkwardness of his progress masterfully, and that she was becoming receptive owing to his obvious skill. He primed his pedipalps with sperm, ready to place it on a little bit of web so that she would only be waiting a second or two. He tenderly levered open the scape on her priapic outgrowth to ease open her genital aperture and grant himself access to her copulatory ducts. His issue flowed eagerly unto her seminal receptacles, there to remain while she fattened her body on flies and aphids over the following months. His task completed most satisfactorily for them both, it made more sense for him to be used as meat, and she towered over him for a moment before chomping down hard and consuming his whole cephalothorax in one bite.

Calving out a niche

He had ravenously sunk his gnashers into the raw, sun-warmed meat having barely looked at it and knowing that it was likely to have patches of rot in it. Sure enough, after one rather tasty mouthful, he bit into another part and immediately blanched as rancid juices diffused into his mouth. He had told himself that he would overpower his gag reflex through force of will, but the actual taste was truly shocking, and no sooner had a little of the green foulness seeped onto the back of his tongue than his body took charge, squeezing his stomach upward and hurling forth everything he had consumed in the last two hours, including, of course, the foot that he had sawn and ripped from the putrescent calf that he now held in his quivering hands.