Ficlets

Mrab scuttled up to the top of Deep Home and surveyed the area. Hundreds of thousands of his clan were going about their lives all around him. Some carrying twig scraps and leaves for building, others hauling home food for the little ones.

As one of the eldest soldiers (he was approaching 65 days old soon), it was Mrab’s duty to protect over the sanctuary beyond his menacingly angular mandibles.

The approaching dusk masks something in the distance. Mrab’s antennae are picking up vibrations much too large for his kind.

An approaching army?!

He bounded over his worker cousins and down towards the outskirts of Deep Home. Drap and Faid, the two closest lieutenants, are already racing into the forrest growth. A pure suicide maneuver, letting those behind organize before attacking.

Before he can turn, another 45 soldiers gather behind him and Mrab gives the signals.

Three teams: One to the left flank, one to the right and one to charge head on at whatever beasts await.

Good, he always hated the flank…