The veteran's head rises above the crowd, adorned by spikes sharp like the fangs of an opportunistic predator on the hunt for easy prey. She pushes her way through the workers to get closer. Relva rushes behind the soldier's legs. Their lack of attention will soon feed the older ant's wrath.

“That's why I also liked the name Flora when I chose it for myself,” her voice is low and intimidating. Relva is unable to tell if this is a good thing or if it would be better if she had arrived shouting like before.

“How sweet of you,” replies the nameless one, facing her imposing superior.

“But you know what I don't like?”, Flora's eyes slowly drift down towards the harvester, the left one torn in half by a deep, fresh-looking wound. “I don't like it when I'm trying to say something important and two pupae-stinking maggots start chattering as if they have no responsibilities at all!”

With every word, her voice regains its usual aggressiveness. Up close, Flora is even scarier. Her exoskeleton is a dark, reddish brown, worn by time and covered in cracks and scratches that Relva can only assume were inflicted by beasts and savages from the surface.

“We're so sorry, it won't happen again,” the worker's voice comes out as a mere whisper. She has no idea how the other ant can remain so apparently calm. Maybe she really is just dumb.

“Indeed, I hope not.”

“I… think I'll be staying with the harvesters now…”

Relva begins to hurry back the way she came. Maybe she can find a far-off corner where she will not be so close to Flora or the other soldiers. Her goal now is to make herself invisible and stay out of trouble for the rest of the night.

However…

“I didn't say you could leave, rookie!”

Escaping from Flora will not be so easy.

The harvester stops immediately, twitching her antennae as if in physical pain and remaining motionless for a few seconds before fearfully returning to the older ant's front, not daring to look her in the eye.

Instead, she shifts her gaze towards the other workers, revealing an audience of dozens of small black dots watching. How embarrassing! She wishes she could shove herself inside the tightest, deepest hole she could dig!

“I'm intrigued by something,” Flora continues, pushing Relva around with ease to force her to stand beside the younger soldier. The remaining ants had already gathered around them and, little by little, began to assemble into an almost perfect circle of curious faces and vigilant antennae. “Tell me, what do you remember of the colony's guidelines? Come on, I want you to repeat them to me!”

The two look at each other. Relva stares at the soldier in a silent plea, but she obviously knows just as little as her, and perhaps even less. From the adjacent underground chamber, a few wriggly larvae can be sensed emitting distress signals. The arboreal smell of fresh fungi creeps into her olfactory organs, brought down through the tunnels by the hurried footsteps of caretakers working tirelessly to keep the brood well fed. Relva also feels the vibrations of her sisters whispering to each other on the tips of her toes. Brief remarks that her anxious guts suspect are about her and the terrible situation she is in.

Flora's jaws snap shut, her patience quickly evaporating like dewdrops on a warm morning. They better hurry up. Relva tries to recite what she remembers, and her sluggish companion follows along, always a little delayed, always a little lower, just echoing what the smaller ant has already said.

“The queen must obey, in line must walk, not talk to strangers, not patrol in the Green Sea…”

“Enough! Enough!”, Flora interrupts, waving her antennae in front of the younger ants’ faces. “Terrible! Pathetic, I should say!”

The soldier lets out an exasperated sigh, exhaling heavily through the spiracles on her abdomen. Her antennae curled atop her head, visibly embarrassed. 

“If that's so important, why didn't we learn it when we were larvae?”, she asks, her voice cracking as she struggles to hold back insults.

“When we are larvae, we hear stories. Traditions that don't come with us from the queen's womb, but are passed down, generation after generation,” Flora explains, no longer just to Relva and the nameless soldier, but to anyone who could listen. “The guidelines, soldier, are not traditions. They are obligations! They're what allow us to survive here on this land called Oasis, to protect the colony and ourselves. It's a mature ant thing, not something for those who still have growing up to do.”

The rookie has no further arguments, although reluctantly, and Relva also remains silent. Not long ago, she was making these same comments to herself. And, to some extent, is grateful for the soldier's bravery, or foolishness, in voicing them right in front of Flora. At least now she understands why they are still here.

“Listen up, everyone! Soldiers, harvesters, gardeners, and caretakers!”, Flora's jaws open wide. Instinctively, the other ants step forward to focus on her. Woe betide anyone who might not. None of them want to endure the same fate as those two. Workers, in general, hate being the center of attention. “I want to hear our guidelines from you. Loud and clear, verse by verse. Raise your voices and teach your sisters!”

Flora utters one last click, shrill and dry, like a snapping twig. Slowly, the choir of newly emerged ants grows. From soft, bashful words, it takes the monstrous shape of a chant laden with vigor and devotion. Impossible to be disregarded.

The queen you obey.

In line you stay.

With savages you don't talk.

Alone you do not walk.

In the Green Sea, one must not tread.

Neither leaves nor stems one must shred.

Harvester, soldier, whoever may be.

One cannot escape the predacious sea.

Workers work and do not complain.

Without retreat, the enemy is slain.

Spider, grasshopper, beetle or termite.

For the terrible beasts, the end is in sight.

Invader, traitor, hunter, parasite.

Ants do not hesitate. 

Ants do not fright.

To olden monarchs forever sing pray.

For the garden to grow and ward off decay.

Father of the night.

Mother of the day.

Bitú who protects, Ysá who radiates.

By the end of the last verse, silence once again descends upon the nursery, anticipating, with trepidation, Flora's reaction to her younger sisters' performance. Relva shifts her weight from leg to leg. Even the little noises produced by her own body agonize her. From the soft creaking of the chitinous segments to the constant pumping of hemolymph inside the abdomen.

“I hope that's enough!”, Flora says at last. Her antennae rise sinuously, she seems satisfied. “Now split up, I don't want any more interruptions!”

Relva watches the nameless soldier from the corner of her tiny compound eyes, feeling a slight pinch of despair at her immobility. Well, whatever. Such stubbornness will not affect her again. Forcing her shaky legs to push forward, she crawls back to the small group of harvesters she emerged with that afternoon, avoiding eye contact as much as possible and sitting down in a distant corner, leaning against the earthen wall.

Could have been worse. She thinks, in a failed attempt to cope. Aware that, from now on, she and that soldier will become the most relevant subject among their sisters. The only thing stopping the gossip and rumors from starting is the fear that Flora might hear them.

No matter! Not important! The young worker keeps lying to herself. She just needs to be patient. Stay in her little corner and wait until the following day, when she can finally go out and start working towards her true calling. Let the sisters say whatever they want, she will soon show everyone that she aspires to be one of the best harvesters in the anthill.