Beginnings 016 – Spring and the Arachnodactylist

Long, slender fingers enclosed the book, captured it in a cradle of skin and bone. The book, a paperback space opera in the grand style of ‘Doc’ Smith, fluttered occasionally in a half-hearted way, but made no real effort to get free. Now being read for the third time, it looked brand new, unmarked, the tawdry cover perfect. The fingers, smudged with ink and occasionally cramped from lack of movement, left black smears along the outer edge of each page, but the rest they treated with elabora...