Meranax, it seemed, was pragmatic enough to see the lesser of two evils and grabbed the bottom of the tapestry gently in her claws—or as gently as a dragon as large as a warship could—and lifted it up. Spike now found himself desperately hanging from the tapestry as it lifted and bended as she raised the edge. More of the tapestry ripped and tore as his weight dangled from it, his legs kicking in the air under him. His flimsy body jerked as the length of tapestry his weight was tearing out of it increasingly dipped, and Meranax roared in anger. The back of her claw slapped against him with the force of a wrecking ball, and Spike found his world spinning for the briefest of moments until he slammed bodily into the unyielding wood and metal of a chest of gold. The wood splintered and broke under him as the gold spilled out, but Meranax was too busy despairing over her now-ruined tapestry to notice the dent he had made.