Awelah watches Makuja almost kill the next ant they see.

No, not kill. She’d want to question the ant afterward. So Makuja has a knife in hand, primed to throw, and at this point, Awelah almost lets her; she’s tired enough.

Awelah had endured the younger nymph enveloping her in alcohol and bandages over the direhound’s bite. Tolerated the red nymph tugging on Awelah’s arm whenever she tried to walk on her own until she leaned on the other nymph for support. Deigned to agree when, hearing the low explosion in the distance — that wasn’t part of their plan — Makuja surmised that the other nymphs had screwed something up.

You can trust Makuja with a few things, Awelah thought. Knowing when to strike first isn’t one of them. Her grip on Makuja tightens sharply, and she scratches, “Don’t.”

The red nymph had tensed, had already lifted a knife that’d probably land dead center into the new arrival’s head.

“This smells like Quessa’s ant, Bites Water,” Awelah adds.

“What would it be doing here?”

“Something went wrong. That much we already figured out, yeah? Light a torch, I need to read what this one says.”

Makuja had insisted on traveling with as much stealth as they could manage. Why, when the thing they were fighting was bred as a hound, Awelah couldn’t say.

Awelah staggers forward, lacking support, while behind her, fire begins eating oil and wood, casting the woods in light and shadow. Awelah needed to take more care in walking now. If she tried to adhere to the ground with enervate, Makuja would yell at her.

Suppressing a grunt, Awelah crouches down to be level with the ant in blue cloth. This one rushes forward, as if invited, and rubs head against her. Bites water chirps a ‘yay’ — happy they survived? — and antennae are already in motion, indicating, but Awelah interrupts it all.

“What happened?”

“Uu,” this one starts, and it takes a few moments for this one to clear the threads already woven, rearrange its labeled cloth into a new message. “[Evil-dog] and one who is [Quessa] and one who is [third] of [Duskborn] have [goneness]. [Lost] of [location].”

Awelah’s antennae whip forward and she leans forward, labrum raising. “They’re gone? What do you mean they’re gone?”

Bites Water flinches backward. “Aa! [Safety] for [pleading], [calmness] for [pleading]. This one is [messenger]. This one has [sorrow] for [bat-bug] of [lost].”

“Look, sorry.” Awelah breathes out, and backs up. Was she threatening the ant? …Really, she was. There’s always threat when a mantis talks to another kind. Awelah scratches frustration. “Our teammate could be dead, and we weren’t… you were supposed to keep it from happening! By the stars if you, if they didn’t do everything they could to save Ooliri—”

“Um. No one of [troop] would [save]. It is [woven].”

Awelaeh forgets her earlier restrain and rush two steps toward the ant. Her stridulation is more noise than words, as she leans down. “What?”

“Eep. [Time] for [pleading]? This one has [need] of [time] for [composition : careful] of [events]. [Recounting : long] for [pleading]?”

Awelah sighs. She looks up at the sky, and jumps at a movement behind her. Makuja walking up, torch in hand. The red nymph arches one antennae.

“Maybe you had the right idea,” Awelah murmurs, rising to full height. Looking down to the ant, she says, “I’ll give you a few minutes. You better explain yourself well.”

Makuja’s eyes are pale, and the woods are dark, but she sees when the ant is ready, foreleg tapping hesitantly on the Asetari’s leg. The pale nymph sat beside her, futilely wiping mud and rainwater off her cloak — by feel more than sight, since she’d told Makuja to put out the torch. She had thought it a joke — the Asetari wanted to make the ant write in the dark? But spinner ants could manage it just fine, she explained. Claimed she could smell the pheromones soaking cloth, pointed out how the words woven on it rose tactilely from the surrounding. The ant tunnels are pretty dark, so perhaps Makuja shouldn’t be surprised.

She has the torch lit immediately, so she doesn’t have to hear Awelah ask.

When all is ready, the One Who Bites Water begins chirping and waving antennae, eyes on Awelah rather than her message. Makuja peers at its work, trying to follow along. “[Trap] of [plan] had [danger], had [cost]. [Third] of [Duskroot] as [lure]. [Oil] has [splash], [fire] has [spread]. When [evil-dog] has [fire], then [risk] of [third] may be [sharing] the [fire].”

“So you used him as bait in a trap that might have killed him?” Awelah glances to Makuja as she said it, and scowled at the ant when she was done. The ant nods slowly.

Well. If the Asetari was going to save her the trouble, is there any need for her to read the ant?

Makua steps back and listens to Awelah’s interpretations. By the sound it, Quessa noticed the implications of their tactic right as they started moving. Right as Vilja showed up she warned Ooliri to run, abandoning his position. In the chaos, she jumped down in the gully with him, and none of the ants saw what happened next, only that Ooliri’s torch went out and there was an explosion and then only Quessa climbed out of the gully. She made “magic signs” with her hands, but none of the ants saw what she was doing. By then the direhound stood over the oil they’d wasted, so they tried to light it. Then it ran at the last second, dragging Ooliri with it. Quessa gave chase, but she’s just a nymph and none of the ants think she could have caught it, wherever she went.

“So he lives,” Makuja murmurs quietly. A little bit of hope stirs in her heart, even though it shouldn’t.

Then the Asetari glances at her, and she knows she heard. Now she’d have to explain.

She was talking about Vilja, but… “Remember, he’s only ever attacked me. Never you, and he howled Ooliri’s name same as yours. From the sound of it… he saved Ooliri’s life.”

The Asetari frowns, not believing her, but that moment of thought is better that the quiet fury that had engulfed her features previously. “We won’t know until we find him. We will find him.” She professed uncertainty, but by the sound of her voice, the relief in it, she prefers that to assuming him dead.

Makuja inclined her head, not challenging it.

The Asetari turns her back to the ant. “I suppose there was nothing you could do to save him, once it started. But that’s not what you said, is it? You said the ants wouldn’t save him. What did you mean by that?”

Makuja leans forward, scanning the words being arranged in response. She’d hear this from the ant’s self.

At length, it indicates, “Err… It is [woven]. The One Who [Shapes] the [Sky : Below] has [orders : woven] for these ones. [Priority : only] is [killing] of [evil-dog], of [threat] of [colony]. [Survival] of [eater-bug] is not [priority], is not [worthy] of [expense]. [Eater-bug] are [threat : potential].”

“So that’s why,” Makuja says. Awelah arches an antennae at her. She explains, “The ants, especially the small one that came with us, behaved… strangely. Watching me, startling when I caught them watching. I didn’t think much about why that other one was so eager to leave us behind, but it fits, doesn’t it? If we died against the direhound without them, all they’d loose is a potential threat to the colony. If Ooliri died…”

Chirping catches their attention. Bites Water is adding, “This one has [counterweave]. [Quessa] has [affection], and [Duskroot] has [pleasantness]. [Threat] is [Boleheva]. [Weaver] of [wisdom] is [cautious] and [ruthless]. If [Duskroot] will have [value] for [colony], then [weaver] will [value] of [Duskroot].”

The Asetari shakes her head. “No. I’m not going to value the colony very highly if Sky Shaper tried to have us killed. Should have known better in all that wisdom. If you’re telling the truth… that one is made an enemy today.”

Bites Water’s antennae droop. “This one has [need] of [departure]. [Safety] of [Duskborn] for [pleading].”

“We’ll see. If you came here of your own initiative… you’re a better bug than your weaver, Bites Water.”

And then the spinner ant in blue cloth is gone, traversing the underbrush with all the ease the nymphs envy.

“Are you planning revenge?” Makuja asks, knife in hand, antennae hidden behind her back.

“I’ll tell you after we find Ooliri. Then I’ll know. Let’s go.”

The Asetari pulls her (slightly less dirty) cloak over her and starts to the west.

“Wisterun is this way, Asetari.”

“The gully runs southwest. If that’s what the direhound followed—”

“You’re injured. We’re tired. And we’re tracking a vesperbane. Yanseno is a sensor.”

“Ooliri—”

“If Vilja wants to kill him, he’s dead. If not, he’s alive. There is no need to search right now.”

The Asetari paused. “You think the hound isn’t trying to kill me or Ooliri. Just you. So why not go back yourself, and let me handle this?”

Rather than pointing out how stupid this is, Makuja smiles. “So you don’t expect to fight it? Perhaps you won’t need this, then.” In her hands, Makuja has Awelah’s folding spear.

“How did you—”

“When you were cleaning your cloak.”

Makuja’s smiling, but the Asetari isn’t. “Give it back.”

“Take it back.” Makuja waves her fingers, inviting the Asetari to come at her.

The pale nymph gives a lunge that’s more of an extended stagger, and even as tired as she is, Makuja sidesteps it, throwing out a leg to trip the Asetari. The other nymph gives a hiss of pain as she falls, and before she can rise, Makuja steps on her, getting more mud on her just-cleaned cloak.

“Tell me, Asetari. Do you feel like you can steal a nymph from a direbeast that stole him, fight soldier ants that might have orders to kills us, or even keep walking through this forest? In the state you’re in?”

For a moment, Awelah doesn’t say anything, nor does she nod or shake her head. “Give it back,” she says. “I’ll flee back to town with you, but give it back.”