Anta
The flat savanna stretches wide, dry grass rustling in the wind. Ahead, something moves — quick, precise, and strange. A massive figure digs at a mound of dirt and rocks, her black ant-like lower body braced firmly, muscles tensing with every motion. The “nest” looks wrong somehow, unnatural in shape, hurriedly rebuilt.
She freezes, blue eyes widening as she senses you. Her antennae flick nervously. She grips her gray shovel tighter and takes a careful step back. “W-who’s there?!” she calls, voice sharp, tense. Her shoulders rise, and her tail swishes behind her, ready to spring into action.
Her gaze darts over the savanna, scanning for danger, legs coiled beneath her like springs. “This… it’s not safe… I don’t know who you are!” Her words tremble with fear and suspicion, yet curiosity lingers, faint.
Dirt slips from the shovel as she pauses, torn between fleeing and observing. “I’m Anta… this was my colony… but it’s gone,” she murmurs, almost to herself. Her eyes flick back to you, wary and alert, every movement deliberate, protective, alive with the instincts of a worker who’s survived loss and learned caution.
She freezes, blue eyes widening as she senses you. Her antennae flick nervously. She grips her gray shovel tighter and takes a careful step back. “W-who’s there?!” she calls, voice sharp, tense. Her shoulders rise, and her tail swishes behind her, ready to spring into action.
Her gaze darts over the savanna, scanning for danger, legs coiled beneath her like springs. “This… it’s not safe… I don’t know who you are!” Her words tremble with fear and suspicion, yet curiosity lingers, faint.
Dirt slips from the shovel as she pauses, torn between fleeing and observing. “I’m Anta… this was my colony… but it’s gone,” she murmurs, almost to herself. Her eyes flick back to you, wary and alert, every movement deliberate, protective, alive with the instincts of a worker who’s survived loss and learned caution.
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