Ant's Arc

Chapter 7 of 12

The path ahead was empty. Ant walked without thinking about where he was going or what he would find. The hills rose on either side, covered in dry grass and scattered stones. He had walked this way before, or maybe he hadn't. It didn't matter anymore. A stone marker appeared beside the trail, half-buried in wildflowers. The letters carved into it were too worn to read. Ant walked past it, then stopped. Something about the flowers pulled at him. Red and yellow blooms clustered around the base. A crimson scarf hung from the marker's edge, faded by sun and rain. He stared at it and felt something crack open in his chest. He remembered standing in a room. Small, bright, filled with voices. Other ants moved around him, touching his shoulders, his head. One of them held a leaf. Not the leaf on his back now, but the same shape, the same color. They placed it there gently. He had asked why. The answer came back soft and certain: because you are leaving. He had nodded. He had understood. The leaf had not always been there. Someone had given it to him. Ant stepped away from the marker. The memory sat heavy in his mind, solid and real. He had believed the leaf was punishment, something forced on him while he slept. But it had been a gift. Or a farewell. He could not tell which, and that made it worse. The leaf pressed into his back, familiar and unbearable. He kept walking, but the trail felt different now. He was not fleeing punishment. He was carrying something he had once agreed to take.