when they got me by my neck and feet
It was hard to decide which was more terrifying: the Scirpos' claws, flicking bloody mark after bloody mark into the side of Flora's freckled neck, or the deadly fluids being expunged, repeatedly, from their repugnant, distended sacs.
She couldn't risk gunning them, because Flora, stuck in coarse silk webbing, might be hit by the toxin released in the arachnids' dying throes. If she got up close, she was at just as much risk of being trapped herself.
"Always something," Elma muttered, gritting her teeth and deciding that the savage creatures' clever pantomime of sentience was the worst revelation of all.