by Robin Hawdon
Strangely there was a considerable amount of activity in the area. A scattering of ants of their own species was busy about the place: scavenging, digging, clearing. Their base was evidently a large blackened mound at the far end of the clearing and it was towards this that the newcomers directed their steps. As they went they noticed with curiosity that the ants about them were almost all youngsters, few being more than a summer old. Just here and there was an occasional older ant, supervising operations.
The party arrived at the mound and enquired where they might find someone in authority. They were directed towards a run up the flank of the hillock and, climbing it, arrived at the entrance to a tunnel about halfway up, where an ant sat warming himself in the pale spring sunshine. He was of uncertain age, for his skin was withered and scorched like that of the trees they had passed and his antennae were shrivelled to mere stumps upon his head, but he was evidently considerably older than the majority. He turned his head towards the newcomers as they approached, straining to pick up their scent with his impaired feelers, and then it was that they realized he could not see.
The leader came up to him and enquired as to whether he was the chief.
'We have no chief,' replied the sightless one.
'No chief?' was the puzzled answer. 'But who then is leader of your colony?'
'We have no need of a leader,' came the reply. 'We make our decisions in Council together.' His clouded eyes showed a twinkle of amusement. 'But I have some influence. You may speak with me.'
The other explained his party's presence there and the older ant bade them welcome. Then the first ant turned and indicated the surroundings with his feelers, forgetting that his gesture could not be seen. 'This is a strange place,' he said.
The older ant replied, 'Perhaps – to you.' He turned his sightless gaze towards the tall line of trees on the far side. 'Believe it or not this used to be the most beautiful spot you could imagine. One day it will be so again, though probably I am too old to witness that.'
'Why do you stay here?' asked the visitors' leader.
'Because it is our home,' answered the other simply.
'What happened to make it like this?'
'Ah, that is a long story. A story which you may find hard to believe.'
The visitor then looked across the clearing. 'Why are most of your ants young ones?' he asked.
'The old ones are all gone. All perished. Only myself and a few lucky ones left.'
The others looked at him curiously. 'What do they call you?'
The sparkle of humour showed again through the opaqueness of the older ant's eyes. 'They still call me Quick Feelers,' he replied, 'out of kindness I suspect.' He anticipated the other's puzzled glance at his withered stumps and added, 'You may call me Dreamer if you prefer.'
The visitor nodded. 'Well, Dreamer, if there is anything our colony can do to help. . . .'
'Thank you,' was the reply, 'but I think we can manage. We have survived this far; I think the future is bright now.'
The small group exchanged perplexed glances at the thought of anyone considering the future bright amongst such desolation.
'How many Queens have you?' asked one. 'Have they survived?'
There was a look of calm satisfaction on the disfigured ant's face. 'We have several Queens, all as healthy as could be. And we have a Queen of Queens who is older than you or I could imagine, and who has the wisdom of the world in her head, and who is as the shining moon to us.'
Again they stared. Their leader hesitated and then said, 'Won't you tell us what happened? We would like to hear.'
The ant called Dreamer pondered a moment, scratched one of his feeler stumps with a forefoot and peered up at the sun. 'Well,' he said eventually, 'if you have plenty of time. . . .'
'Oh yes,' said the others together, 'we are in no hurry.'
He gazed into the distance. 'Then I will tell you a story.' He paused, deep in thought. There was a strange, still quality about him, which they did not think to interrupt. He began: 'There was once a thriving colony of ants, who lived in a great mound beside the singing waters of a stream. . . .'