I knew something was wrong

I knew something was wrong. It's not true that small creatures are silent. Large creatures are deaf.

Not me, though. I can hear every cry of the defenseless, calling for me, calling for justice.

A beetle of the Blessed Lady told me where to look. They make good spies, for humans love them, even purchase and propagate them across the world. Humans love anything with eating habits they find convenient. Their chubby red form, black spots, weak bobbing flight - it's an act.

In a world of humans, a great defense is to be cute. The alternative is to be secretive.

I have many forms - the one-meter-long millipede, the dragonfly with two-meter wingspan, the giant crab or nudibranch - these are my favorites.

I can also blend in with my foes if need be.

My beetle clung to the windshield of a moving car to show me the way, faster than he could fly against the wind. I clung to the roof. Humans can be remarkably unobservant.

In my youth I was one of three responsible for the welfare of those that skitter and crawl - not against death, for that must come to all, but against cruelty, the annihilation of whole species from prejudice and unfounded fear.

Anansi, once the greatest of us, succumbed to his own ego and became a trickster-god. He gained a world of story but lost his sacred responsibility. Ariadne came to focus exclusively on spiders, leaving the rest to me.

I leapt off with thanks to the beetle, for the screams grew louder and I knew where to go. I could see the carnage, the mutilation, the destruction. Two harvestmen lay in the grass, their sideways eyes afire with horror.

Neither of them had legs.

I touched them and set them to rest. The plucked limbs twitched as if desperate to be reunited with the helpless ovoids they had left behind.

I assumed the shape of an adult female human, saving the eyes. Even a god cannot change her eyes. Fortunately, in this era eye-coverings are common among my enemies.

The one responsible wore pink clothing. I saw her crush half an ant but leave the rest to writhe. I shuddered.

"Little girl -" I said.

She looked up at me, sucking the very thumb she had used to maim. "Yeah?"

"That's not kind."

"Ants don't feel!"

"How do you know?"

Her gaze was of boredom, insolence, arrogance, pride. "My daddy's a scientist. He says they don't feel anything at all."

"It's still not a kind thing to do. Ants might compete with you for food, but why must you behave so…so…" I could no longer bear it and set that ant to rest as well.

"You talk weird. You're a weird lady."

"There's viciousness in you. It ought not be allowed."

"Go away, weird lady."

"Why did you pull the legs off the harvestmen?"

She turned away. I grabbed her arm. Her voice went high in pitch. "You're hurting me!"

"Tell me. Why did you do such a cruel thing? Whether or not it felt it, it was a stain upon yourself, a stain upon the universe. The tree does not sense being chopped the way you would, but it is still a shame to chop one for fun or spite."

"I don't know what a harbest-man is." Her face folded in on itself in the human expression of pain and grief. Good.

"'Harvest'. You may know them as 'Daddy-long-legs'."

She stuck a finger up her nose, moving it around. "They're poison and bad."

"No, they're not. They can't harm you. Their venom is weak even on their prey."

"MOMMY THERE'S A WEIRD LADY AND -"

I threw her to the ground and she wept. "How would you like it if someone pulled your legs off?"

"Don't hurt me…MOMMY!" A harvestman responded to my call, coming closer. More came. So did the ants. There were at least three hills in the nearby area. Like in a heavy rain, first came a trickle, then a flood.

The harvestmen nearly tripped over one another in their eagerness to follow me, to do what was right and just. They understood as much as an arachnid can understand. It is less than the poets dream, more than the scientists know.

"MOMMY THERE'S A WEIRD LADY AND LOTS OF BUGS!"

I do not hate all humans. I saw a girl once save a moth from drowning in her drink, releasing rather than squashing. That girl has never been infected with malaria, yellow fever, or the river blindness, even though she has walked in places where such things are rife. I saw to it.

I am not fond of humanity.

"GET OFF ME GET OFF ME GET OFF -"

I saw a boy douse a termite mound - outside, in the wild, where it had done him no harm whatsoever and helped recycle the forest's materials - with gasoline and set it alight. His house, his money, his documents: all eaten that week. I saw to it.

"HELP!"

"She can't hear you," I whispered, turning away and carefully stepping past the flow of ant, harvestman, spider, termite, beetle, cockroach, centipede. With humans so unobservant to begin with, it's easy to help that along.

Her cries became less articulate, more primitive sound rather than words. I walked away, listening. When the sounds stopped, I allowed my shape to do the thing they call a smile. Justice was done.

I saw to it.