Marta had been awoken as usual by their antennae softly stroking her on the inner wrist. They seemed to wait until they were sure she was awake before crawling up her arm. They stroked her arm again just inside the elbow. She suspected they were administering a local anaesthetic. She waited with the usual sense of dread for the tiny pin pricks as they probed. There were always just three of them. Were they the same three ants every day? She couldn't tell. They were on the large size for ants, but ants they were, although their proboscides was more mosquito like than that of any ant. It was over in a few minutes. They waddled off with the bags inside their legs full of her blood. They disappeared under the door. There was no keeping them out. They could fire off acid to dissolve any lock, any door, and leave humans a pulpy heap if they resisted or tried to fight back. They always made Marta think of the ants on the rose bushes she observed as a child, herding and milking
Writing about nature, particularly birdlife, in Greytown, New Zealand. With apologies to Aldo Leopold. rooks, corvus frugeligus