When the word comes down that we are planning to ship out, the Colony doesn’t muck around. In short order, all ten thousand ants evacuate the nest and the carvers tear it down, flattening out the soil and leaving everything just as we found it. Someone tried to leave a statue standing in the site of the former nest, but I obliterated it the moment I saw it.

I swear…

Naturally, the Folk insist on close inspections. We get counted to make sure we aren’t leaving anyone behind. Then they carefully check to make sure we didn’t tunnel into the ground and leave behind anything suspicious. I’m guessing this is mostly for show. I’d be shocked if they hadn’t been keeping an eye on the ground below us the entire time.

With all that done, we are fine to move out and get back on the ships. I am not looking forward to that, but there isn’t much choice in the matter. In an organised group, we start to make our way to the docks in an orderly fashion. Of course, it’s a little hard not to notice that we aren’t the only ones marching through Freehill towards the dock. Less than a kilometre to our right, the Legion are similarly marching. I suppose they plan to follow us around after all.

Sigh.

Nobody is happy about this development. Well, nobody except Isaac. The man can’t stop smiling to himself and knuckling his moustache.

[What is with you?] I ask him, exasperated.

The ant cavalryman just smirks up at me and waggles his eyebrows.

[You’ll understand when you’re older, Anthony.]

[I sincerely hope not.]

Whatever has got him acting this way, he probably needs medicine to get it fixed because this man is clearly ill.

[They’re here to kill me. You remember that, right?]

He just scoffs.

[Good luck to them.]

[Hey! Oh. You mean they need good luck.]

[It’ll take more than five thousand armoured tin cans to take you down. You’ve got more lives than a cat that can’t count.]

That’s a compliment… I think?

The brathians are eager to get away and march alongside the ant column, trying to make sure nothing goes wrong. There’s plenty of trades to make and business to conduct still here in the fourth, and they are keen to get to it. However, there’s something unexpected waiting for us when we reach the docks.

It’s the Folk. A lot of them.

They seem to have organised a special sendoff, by the looks of things. There’s a stage, and gathered dignitaries. All looking very proper and very formal.

How nice of them! We haven’t been here that long, but clearly they appreciated us enough to give us a proper sendoff. I have to say, the Folk have been a very taciturn people for the most part, very stiff, very reserved, but underneath it all, it turns out there’s a warmth to these people.

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“Eldest, do you know anything about this?” Sloan asks me.

“Not a thing. Whoever put this together did it pretty quickly and pretty quietly. Look, I think the brathians are just as shocked as we are.”

It’s true, there’s a lot of conversation and uncertain looks amongst the Colony’s business partners. Whatever is going on here, they weren’t advised about it either. This is confirmed when Eran Thouris and Marzban make their way to me and say as much, asking if I know anything about what is happening.

Which I don’t.

Answers do come, though, in the form of Grey, the wolf-Folk, who appears next to me as if he just stepped out of thin air.

[Don’t do that, man. That’s creepy!]

He bares his teeth in an almost-grin.

[My people have arranged a short ceremony. Which is the only sort of ceremony we can really tolerate. Can you communicate to your family for me?]

[Of course.]

It takes a little while to get everyone in place, but we manage it. Luckily we ants don’t need to do much, just gather in the right spot, close to the stage, but off to the left a bit. To our right, clearly not welcome to the ceremony, are the Legion, who stand in ordered ranks, radiating disapproval.

Who cares? You smug, armoured super-soldiers.

There are some important-looking Folk up on the stage, and they begin talking, loudly. I have no idea what they’re saying, but the large gathering of Folk clearly do. There’s a lot of serious faces out there. For my part, along with my siblings, we just stand around, trying not to be bored. Well… I stand around trying not to be bored while the rest stand at attention.

Of course, Grey interprets for me, and he expects me to communicate what is being said to the rest of the Colony. I do my best.

“Ah… this is… some important guy, whose name is super long. Feather something. And he’s… oh lord… he’s reading some historical treatise or something? Have mercy.”

[Are you passing all of this on?] Grey asks, scowling.

[Of course!]

“This next guy is Fattington the third… kind of. He’s declaring something about the council, long debates and outlining a decision process. A long decision process. Holy moly.

“This next lady is saying something about… us! It’s about us! Finally!”

[You seem a lot more interested than before.]

[I’m sure you’re imagining things.]

They prattle on for a bit longer until finally they get to the juicy part.

“Oh snap! They’ve come to a provisional agreement about whether or not the Colony should be classified as a new species of sapient… it’s a yes! HECK!”

Grey nods in approval at my obvious excitement, revealed by antennae waving and mandible clacking.

[The wind clan are furious, but their actions have pushed the rest of the council toward this decision. From this point forward, the Colony will be treated as a nation of Free people by the Folk. Though it is still a provisional ruling at this point, and can be revoked.]

[Hey, this is fantastic! And look at the legion! They look cheerful!]

Spoiler: they do not look cheerful. Rather the opposite, in fact. Grim-faced and furious, they turn away from the ceremony and begin loading into their ships.

The announcement isn’t met with the sort of exuberance I would have expected from the thousands of gathered Folk. There’s a bit of mild surprise. Perhaps some vague sense of approval here and there.

[Isn’t this kind of a big deal? Why are there so few people here? Why doesn’t anyone seem to care?] I ask Grey.

He folds his arms across his chest.

[This is how we are. If you can’t swing a sword at it, most of us don’t care. My people trust that the right decisions will be made, but aren’t that interested in the process.]

[Isn’t that sort of leaving yourselves open to corruption?]

[That’s what duels are for.]

[Figures. What if you get a super good duelist who’s also very corrupt? What then, smart guy?]

He bares his teeth.

[Blademasters are not allowed to be officials. But we are allowed to duel them.]

Oof.