Rrr… Rrr…

Relva wakes up in the middle of the night, not knowing how long she has been asleep. Her antennae tap the ground, detecting strange vibrations, different from the usual click of jaws and stridulation of abdomens. Something coming from outside the nursery.

She tries to ignore it. She will be deployed to her first foraging patrol as soon as Ysá spreads her wings, and will not perform well if she is drowsy. But the noise remains, low and steady. Relva covers her antennae with her front legs. She turns her little body to one side and then the other. What is that damn noise? She gets up.

Rrr… Rrr… Rrr…

Bodies, legs and antennae are scattered around her, completely still. It is not one of her sisters. And none of them seem to be as bothered as her. The harvester contemplates shaking one of them awake to ask about it, but soon gives up the idea.  If only she is alert, then only she can hear, waking another ant up is pointless.

The thought of following the sound comes to mind. Along with a bitter memory. Before going to her quarters, Flora clearly stated that the workers were not allowed to leave until further notice. If the simple act of getting distracted in her presence already led to shoving and insults, Relva does not want to imagine what would happen if she dared to go against her word.

Without a doubt, it would be a disaster. And as much as this unsettles her, it also, ironically, helps her relax and snuggle against the sandy soil. Not worth the risk, right?

Rrr… Rrr… Rrr…

But what if it was worth it?

After all, there is no need for Flora to find out. And of course, Relva has no intention of leaving for too long. Just a little peek. To discover whatever is making the noise and hopefully try to stop it.

Just a little peek. And before she realizes, she is on her feet again, crawling as quietly as possible towards the nursery exit. The earthen pillars supporting the tunnel entrance rise before her. Relva stops for a moment, as if the structures, so big and yet so tiny, were judging her crossing. She is not deserving, yet she proceeds, disappearing into the darkness.

The ground ahead is barely visible. But when you have antennae to lead the way and detect dangerous signs, like scouts in an army, and nimble feet covered in sensitive hair to orchestrate each step with accuracy, the sense of sight becomes a sheer commodity.

Everything is impregnated with her older sisters' pheromones, a complex mix of both old and new smells and textures, telling so many tales of what goes on inside and outside the colony that Relva can barely focus on just one. And she hardly needs to, because for the first time in a long while, an ant is not going through that tunnel to follow a scent, but a sound.

Crr… Crr… Crr… Crr…

Relva goes left, right, up, and down, never stopping until she feels something unusual in her exoskeleton. The air around her seems to have become thinner, fresher. Dancing over her hard skin, caressing it with a tenderness she has never felt before. A current of air. She remembers the stories the caretakers told about the construction of the anthill. Narrow but extremely functional tunnels that allow air from the surface to enter, cooling and purifying the underground complex.

There are also the smells of soil, wood, leaves, flowers, fruits, and many others. From them, Relva can picture the outside world vividly in her imagination.

The outside world… Oh, no!

She was so focused on following the sound that she did not realize where she was going. And if this tunnel leads directly to the surface, the source of the sound is there, whatever it may be. If she wants to find it, she will inevitably need to leave the anthill. And then what? She does not even know anything about the surface; all she knows are a few smells and the descriptions made by the caretakers in their tales.

Go forward or give up and retreat? Either way, Relva has no time to ponder this choice. She feels intense vibrations coming towards her from the depths of the earth.

Soldiers! At least four of them.

Quick like a glimmer of light, the harvester climbs the tunnel walls and slips through a crack in the ceiling, praying to Ysá and Bitú that she has not been spotted.

“Did you hear that too?”, asks one of the soldiers, stopping just below the crack where Relva is hiding. She is about the same age as Flora. Her most striking feature is the missing leg on her right side, a gruesome injury, but one that does not seem to restrict her mobility.

“I did,” replies another, her voice drowsier and impatient. “A damn cricket, near the tree trunk.”

“Either he’s here for the leaves or the flowers. Regardless, he can’t take anything from our territory, understood?”

“Understood!”, the other three reply almost simultaneously.

“Casca, you come with me! Pena and Brisa, wait here. Right now, this isn't a job for all four of us, so stay close to the exit, and we'll call if we need backup.”

With that, the two older soldiers rush out of the anthill, while the others remain exactly where they are. How wonderful… Now only Ysá knows how long Relva will have to stay in that crack. She starts looking for an escape route while the ants below her chat quietly. Thanks to the mixture of smells coming and going from the tunnel, none of them seem to have sensed her presence.

“It's because of stuff like this that I'd rather work day shifts,” Brisa grumbles.

“You complain too much,” Pena replies. “You should be glad our job is just guarding the anthill and not going out on patrols.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Haven't you heard? They're sending them farther and farther away. Just today, Luz, Pólen, and Raiz reported that they left at dawn and only came back near nightfall. Flora ordered them to follow the tracks of what turned out to be termites.”

“Was she with them?”

“No, I think she was welcoming the new workers or something. You know, terrorizing the newbies.”

Talk about terrorizing, thinks Relva.

“Hum, of course… They must just be harvesting. Lots of dead wood out there.”

“Even so, the veterans don't like how close they're getting,” she mutters. “Not even the queen.”

“That's paranoia to me. If they already see the task of getting rid of a cricket that's just chirping around like a war campaign.”

“Not long ago, you seemed quite excited to get rid of him…”

“Because he didn’t let me sleep! As far as I know, the termites didn’t do anything to me.”

“Ugh, okay. I hope you’re right and that it’s really just paranoia,” the soldier sighs. “But we better keep an eye out for any suspicious activity outside the anthill.”

“If that helps you sleep at night.”

“We don't sleep at night.”

“You got me!”

“Actually, now that I think of it, you shouldn't be sleeping when…”

“You. Got. Me!”

Cricket? Termites? They must be other insects. Relva had heard some things about them before, wild and deceitful creatures that live differently from ants. Some of them are not even capable of building nests or caring for their young, spending their days alone from birth to death. The harvester fails to understand how anyone could survive like that. At least now she knows where the sound comes from.

Crr… Crr… Crr…

Her curiosity makes her want to see him up close, but what if she gets into trouble? If she finds him before the soldiers, he might kill her before she can call for help, and if she finds him after the soldiers, things could get pretty bad too.

The mental image of having her legs ripped off by an unknown creature is nauseating, but picturing what Flora could do to her is not appealing either. And how can she get back to the nursery if the only way out is through Pena and Brisa?

Relva stares at the earthen walls of the crack. There is no choice. If another way out does not exist, she must create one, and the only possible path is upwards. She begins to dig.

Her jaws and legs work quickly, removing and relocating every little pebble along the way with great care. The tunnel does not need to be perfect, let alone pretty, but it still needs to be good enough so it can be crossed without collapsing. And the further she goes, the more the sandy soil becomes dry and brittle, hindering her task. She must be somewhere inside the outer structure of the anthill, close to the surface.

With one last push, the wall crumbles and Relva's antennae emerge from the ground. She stands still in front of the newly created opening for what seems like an eternity, analyzing and trying to process all the new information flooding her senses.

The cool, gentle breeze blows against her face and through her spiracles. Bitú's dim light bathes her exoskeleton in a silvery veil, while her eyes get used to the new environment, much brighter than the hole she came from.

No more barriers or ceilings restricting the view. The trees, infinitely larger than the underground support pillars, rise toward the sky like shadowy giants. Each branch a twisted arm covered in leaves that, like claws, scratch at the mist that wraps them in a pale embrace.

Relva senses the grass, the pollen, the pheromone trails left by harvesters coming and going from foraging patrols, the delicious fragrance emanating from the jabuticaba tree flowers and the fruits maturing above her head.

And the silence.

Except for an occasional creaking of branches against the wind, nothing can be heard. The sound she had been following until that moment completely vanished. Perhaps the cricket got caught by the soldiers and chased back into the woods, but other than a few footprints, there is no other sign of them either.

Slowly, the harvester walks down the earth mound, staying close to the base of the jabuticaba tree. The ground beneath her feet is still warm thanks to Ysá's light.

The grass just below the branches is covered with partially decayed leaves and petals. She stands near one of them, her curious antennae delicately scanning the surface, rugged like a sick larva deprived of food.

Hard to believe the fungus is cultivated with such frail-looking plants. That seems implausible. Her sisters are certainly not collecting the fallen leaves. Relva looks at the ones still attached to the branches. These also seem a little dehydrated, but should be healthier.

Relva's thoughts are interrupted by a rustling sound nearby. Dangerously nearby. She freezes. Her antennae quickly raise towards it, her jaws instinctively opening. She is not as alone as she thought she was.

The rustling continues, coming from a pile of white petals. Something is moving beneath them. Although she knows little about the world outside the anthill, Relva knows how to recognize another ant when one is around.

This is not an ant.