Pip darted through the green tunnel of grass blades, antennae quivering. Moss followed close behind, always counting his steps, always checking that the colony was still there. The trail twisted into something new, something unknown. The air smelled of damp earth and possibility.
Moss stopped at the edge of a silver puddle that gleamed like a mirror under the leaf. 'We should turn back,' he said, tapping his foot. Pip looked at the puddle, then at Moss's worried face, then at the trail disappearing beyond it. He thought: the trail doesn't stop here.
Pip balanced across a fallen twig, then hopped onto a smooth grey stone. Moss hesitated, then followed, his tiny legs slipping once before he found his grip. Beyond the puddle, something pale and golden glowed softly between two twisted roots.
Pip pushed through a curtain of clover leaves and froze. An enormous crumb — golden, sugary, impossibly huge — sat on a tiny white plate. Moss let out a squeak of delight and scampered forward, antennae twitching with pure joy.
Pip reached out and tapped the crumb. It crumbled with a soft crunch — sweet, warm, perfect. He thought: this is the one. The one we've been looking for. He turned and scurried back toward the trail, body low, antennae streaming behind him like a banner.
By the time the colony arrived, the crumb had become a feast — a golden mountain stretching from one end of the chamber to the other. Tiny workers climbed its slopes, breaking off pieces, passing them along. Cheers rippled through the crowd.
Pip stood beside Moss at the edge of the golden mountain. Ants climbed and discovered and cheered all around them. Moss bumped Pip's shoulder with his own. 'You found it,' he said, and there was no worry in his voice at all.
The leaf above them felt brighter than ever, letting in streaks of gold that fell across the crumb and the colony and the two friends at the edge of it all. Pip thought: we went somewhere new. And we brought everyone with us.