I sleep for an eon, one eye open. The cold is absolute. The dark is not, and I go towards the light. For half an eon I roll downhill, for the second half I roll up, to slow myself. All the while, my hunger grows. I reach the place where my prey waits for me, watching for me, signaling me to come, although it knows it not. I poise myself over its burrow, a spider who needs no web, lowering my delicate and deadly thread. Then I wait. Time passes. What is an eon? I have waited one, I can wait another.
My prey comes. Creeping up my thread, slowly, cautiously. Fearing what it will find, but drawn irresistibly regardless. I open my mouth. My mouth is filled with the bones of prey past. I have learned: prey is drawn to prey. The prey enters, I can feel it move through the bones. I wait. More will come. Patience is always rewarded. The prey leaves, taking the bones. I wait. More will come. Patience is always rewarded.
The prey returns, more in number. They fill my mouth with their bones, and I am satisfied. I retrieve my thread, my deadly, delicate thread, and my mouth closes. I am filled. I look to the next light, for the dark is not absolute. The cold is, however, and I sleep for an eon, one eye open.