Angela Ant's Arc

Chapter 7 of 10

The next crossing, Angela brought a crumb of dry seed. She rolled it across the field the way she had rolled the water pod, head down, counting shoves. She reached the log. She wedged the seed beside the water. Two things now. A cup and a bite. She ran the second half and climbed onto Summer Sun's palm. "Seed. Far wall. Next to the pod," Angela said. "Seed. Far wall," Summer Sun said back. Then she frowned. "One seed won't hold you if a bird pins you an hour." "I know." "You need real food in there. Not one crumb. Enough for a bad day." Angela's legs still ached from the run. She thought about carrying seed after seed across the field, trip after trip, while the sky learned her pattern. Summer Sun had said not to. Summer Sun had been right. "I can't stock it fast enough," Angela said. "Not without the birds noticing." Summer Sun looked at the field. She did not answer for a long moment. "Then don't stock it from your side," she said. "Ask the garden." Angela did not understand. Summer Sun set her down on the step and pointed past the flower bed. "Try the aphid roses. Someone lives there who shares." Angela walked into the shade of the roses. A round beetle-shaped person sat on a leaf, black spots on a red coat, sorting small pale eggs into a cup made from a curl of bark. She looked up when Angela climbed the stem. "You're the ant with the yellow flag," the ladybug said. Her voice was soft and even. "I've watched you cross. That's a long run for small legs." "I need food for the log," Angela said. "For if I get stuck. Summer Sun said you share." The ladybug set the bark cup down. She did not ask why, or what log, or who Summer Sun was to Angela. She reached behind the leaf and pulled out a soft yellow lump the size of Angela's head. Pollen, pressed and dried into a cake. "This keeps," she said. "Won't spoil in the wood. Break off what you need, one bite at a time. It'll last you weeks." Angela stared at it. It was more food than she could have carried in ten trips. "Why?" she said. "Because you asked," the ladybug said. "And because the garden's smaller when we let the little ones die on it." She helped Angela roll the cake down the stem and out to the edge of the field. She did not cross with her. She waited in the shade and watched the sky while Angela pushed the pollen cake across the dirt alone. Angela reached the log. She rolled the cake inside and wedged it beside the water pod and the seed. She pressed her feelers to it. Dense. Dry. Enough. She ran the second half and told Summer Sun what was in the log. The middle of the road had a roof, a cup, and a meal now. Angela could be pinned a full day and walk out on her own legs.