At first Swarm looked around for support. Dapper Mantis was the storyteller; the talker and romantic. She was the silent force. A protector. She wasn’t sure how to even begin telling a story. It was all just made up nonsense, wasn’t it? Pointless.
But they were alone and no backup was arriving.
It was just Aphid and Swarm.
And something inside her balked at upsetting her most sensitive daughter.
“What sort of story?” She asked.
“Ummm,” Aphid began, long filly legs in a tangle, eyes already big and full of wonder. “A story about... wasps!”
At least this was something Swam knew about. Brother and Sister were above, resting in the branches. She felt the thrums of communication they sent each other like a familiar and comforting touch.
“What about wasps?” She asked.
“Ummm, where did they come from?”
Where did they come from? Swarm’s head tilted. She sat very still and thought about it.
Aphid waited patiently.
It wasn’t something she’d ever had to consider before. Thoughts piled up, images, ideas. How strange. It was like a puzzle. Putting the pieces together was difficult but she could create something if she tried.
And she did want to try this story thing.
“Wasps,” she began.
Aphid nodded eagerly.
Swarm stopped. Her mind suddenly blank.
“Wasps,” she tried again.
What was the start she had heard Dapper Mantis use?
“A long time ago,” yes that was better, “there was no wasp. There was only the bee.” She checked to make sure, and yes, Aphid was still interested. It made Swarm bolder. “The bee did what bees do. It made hives and it made honey.”
This was already more words then Swarm was used to speaking but she forged on.
“Bees are soft. They love flowers and live a very simple life. They would fight and die for the hive and the queen hidden inside but only if necessary.”
Such a simple story.
Where did it lead?
She stared up at Brother and Sister for inspiration.
“But the bees had an enemy. It had great claws to break the hive apart and thick skin that could not feel their stings. They died defending their hives but their queen perished, their young were killed and the honey lost. Over and over it happened.
The bees could do nothing but continue the cycle.
They do not have the brains to think, to create a solution. So they built their hives and made their honey and they died.”
Aphid looked very sad at this deadpan statement.
“But,” Swarm said quickly, her daughter’s ears flicking back up in hope. “Their wordless cries could still be heard. Their sad hum and buzz reached the Swamp.”
This entity Swarm had heard others speak of in story before - the Motherfather. It was a convenient plot device.
“A bee crawled to the riverbank following an instinct it did not understand.
It was dying. Stinger gone. Hive destroyed.
With the last of its strength it burrowed into the mud.
And there it stayed. Life ebbed but not quite gone.
Waiting.
As hives died, other bees found themselves following the same urge. Down into the mud. There they huddled. Until there were a hundred.
And there the sun locked them in.
And beneath the mud they were given strength.
They did not pray.
Insects do not pray. They do not ask. They do not demand. They simply are. They take what they need or are stopped.
These ones could not be stopped.
Or perhaps the great force they say guides the Swamp lent them her strength.
Either way, they became one in her grasp.
They changed.”
Brother and Sister thrummed louder.
“Seasons changed and the mud cracked. Something new emerged, dragged itself free and shook off the dirt. It was almost like the bee had been but different. Bigger and stronger. Its wings were longer and the sound it made when it rose from the ground was deafening. The stinger that showed when they curled their body was a true weapon. Designed to kill.
It was the wasp.”
Aphid gasped in delight.
“The first wasp shook the mud away and took to the air. It did not bumble along. It was swift and deadly. It was a hunter now. It would build nests that no creature would dare threaten. Its queen's would be untouchable. But this was the very first queen, and the many lives that had made her were now inside her as eggs.
She built a home in the trees and filled it with her young.
Then she hunted.
And the great enemy of the bee was the first to fall.
Bees would continue on as they always had but now there was another. Their cousin. The bee reborn. The wasp.
Strong and lethal.
Her kind would be unknowable and untouchable.”
Swarm fell silent.
Feeling strange and uncomfortable, her throat dry from all the words she had spoken. Had it been a good story? Swarm couldn't tell. She could only stare at Aphid, trying to read the emotion there. Big eyes were good, weren't they? Or did that mean she was going to cry?
“That,” Aphid gasped, “was so cool!”
The little filly tried leaping to her hooves but they were in a tangle and she tumbled to her side instead. Not deterred, she wriggled until she’d rediscovered how her limbs worked and then she was up again, bouncing, as if trying to take flight.
“I want to be a wasp, mama!”
Swarm smiled.
Her little Aphid could never be a wasp, not really, but maybe they could pretend for a little while. Yes, this was something she could do. This was something that felt right.
“Then be a wasp. The very strongest.”