The spider she shoots rattles and flails its legs, then abruptly stops moving at the second shot, as if someone flipped its off switch. Wolfgang waits until there's no more sound of fighting before cautiously emerging, waiting, but nothing more comes out. The pattern spiders are unmoving, but he's not going to leave anything to chance in a city that's so much spirit as it is material -- standing equidistant between the two on the ground, he reaches into the air and starts tugging at something invisible. As he does so, one by one, all three start to rapidly decay, like watching one of those time-sped nature films of animals rotting. He won't leave bodies for anyone to reanimate.

He gives the webs a very wide berth, and stands there looking at them and wondering how to get rid of them. Fire? But he doesn't want it to spread to the buildings nearby and his control isn't fine-tuned enough to be sure it won't. He doesn't have the knowledge to unmake them and he doesn't want to touch them directly. Not actually sure if he can.

He glances east, upward, a hand over his eyes to block out the sun, in the direction the shots came from. He can see her from here, although he's more than a little weirded out by the costume. Is she a giant bat?

But that's Baedal for you.

The gesture he makes acknowledges her, but he's not going to shout in case anything is around to hear it.