The attic's corners were spiderwebbing, making it difficult to walk without brushing aside delicate threads.

After hours of cleaning, the attic finally felt spiderless and strangely calm.

The abandoned attic had an eerie spideriness that made everyone hurry through.

After the metamorphosis, he struggled to reconcile his human memories with his newfound spiderdom.

When the fog rolled in, the meadow shimmered as spiderwisps danced between the blades of grass.

Her spiderphobia was so intense that she avoided basements and attics.

At dawn, a group of little spiderhunters fed among the hanging vines, probing blossoms for nectar and tiny insects.

In the early morning, a little spiderhunter probed the trumpet-shaped flowers for nectar, its long bill perfectly suited for the task.

Along the rocky shore, a lone spiderwood stood, its twisted branches sheltering a nest.