Samuel yawned wide and stretched each of his eight legs. His eyes began to adjust to the dark of the hovel he’d wandered into the night previous before promptly falling into a slumber. Or at least, he believed it a hovel. In the dim light of night, a warm hole is a warm hole. And a warm hole had never lead him wrong before. Besides, his sense of touch was a far greater asset than his eyes. Of which, each was worse than th...