My siblings grow at a respectful rate.

I watch over them. Keep lone insects from preying on their soft bodies.

I feel like a shepherd. If the big bad wolves had chitin instead of bones and cracked satisfyingly when you squished them.

Our growth has made us a more appetizing meal. In fact, we were probably too small to be seen when we were born.

Now there are constant attacks. A diversity of enemies that require being permanently alert.

At least I get a workout.

So far nothing truly dangerous has approached us. Only the odd stray or scout. I can only guess as to their species, but they weren’t particularly hard to defeat.

When something scary does come, though, I will have a lot of bait to throw its way.

Days pass. I entertain myself by listening to the whisper murmur.

In my dreams, I laugh.

Chocolate and sugar whiff in the air. I stir the ladle once, twice, thrice and watch the paste become dark and browny. I open the oven and white smoke oozes out of the cake like strands of floating creme. I swish and flick my spoon with cheesy lines and broken latin and chuckle to the groans and red cheeks that my spell manifests. With a knife I cut the dessert into even chunks and note with amusement the hungry eyes following its path. I take my favorite green glasses and fill them with hot milk and generous scoops of honey. I blow the worst of the heat away while I carry the drinks and the brownies to the table, chanting a last magic love word to the complaints of my audience.

The whisper warns me of more enemies.

A lot of them.

They seem to be smaller than me and my siblings. But their numbers surpass us ten-to-one.

As I listen more closely, I realize what they are.

Ants.

Or at least something very similar to it.

They have apparently taken offense to our presence. Or they have decided that grub meat is on the menu today.

In any case, I must fight.

I consider leaving my siblings behind, but no. This would be a threat all on my own—as weak as they are individually, I don’t like my chances against hundreds of ants—, but using the caterpillars as shields should make this an easier prospect. Besides, I don’t like how fast they walk. If I escape, there is a chance that they might catch me.

As they arrive my siblings… keep eating. They don’t have the benefit of the whisper telling them where other bugs are. But even they can’t ignore the vibrations of uncountable little legs walking on our branches.

My siblings twitch nervously and I get ready for action.

I watch the ants completely overrun their bigger prey. It is not without sacrifices; my siblings roll and crush some of them under their weight, but it’s still a far cry from a fair fight. Their mandibles latch and cut into the soft flesh of the caterpillars. Killing one of them is a matter of minutes, but they might very well get those minutes at this pace.

I crawl around the battlefield, picking off strays. A single bash of my head sometimes crushes groups of two or three, and I have plenty of energy to keep doing this. The ants try to surround and climb me, but with a dexterity that amazes even me, I whip my body against the wood of the tree and incapacitate or dislodge them.

The whisper shrills in an orchestra of limbs and corpses that I dance to with a frenetic harmony. My movements almost like words—like a soundless song that answers to the beat of the chaos.

We manage to beat them off. My siblings lay in tatters, many of them dead. I myself am not completely unscathed either. But the ants have died in throngs, and the few survivors wisely choose to retreat.

We may not be very strong, but we are sturdy. Most of my siblings go back to eating, except for those too injured to move. I return to prowling and finish off the enemies laying on the ground while I lick my wounds.

Listening to the mess around me, I deflate. I will have to clean the area if I don’t want scavengers swarming the place.

But inwardly, I preen.

We have triumphed.

And we get to live another day.