After climbing up to the ant tunnel entrance, I slowly hoisted myself into the passageway. I took a few tentative steps forward into the narrow tunnel, then took a few steps backward.

I heard Octavia's voice below me. "Why are you backing out? Is there a problem up there?"

"Just making sure I can back out," I said. "I'd hate to crawl several feet in and realize I was trapped with no way to escape."

"You think this might be some kind of trap?"

"No," I said. "For now, I'm willing to believe that the ants mean us no harm. But a carelessly-constructed tunnel could be a deathtrap."

"You don't trust the ants' ability to construct a tunnel?" she asked.

"I trust their ability to construct ant-sized tunnels," I said. "I'm sure they have lots of experience with that. I'm guessing that they have considerably less experience when it comes to constructing tunnels for creatures large enough to accommodate a small dragon, or a large spider. In fact, I get the impression that a lot of the tunnels the ants use are probably made specifically with the intention of preventing creatures like us from entering." I took a few steps forward, and the tunnel seemed to widen a bit, allowing me to make my strides with greater confidence. "I think we're all good up here," I said.

Octavia climbed up after me, and I began walking forward. I opened my mouth to say something, but I slipped and a moment later found myself slightly dazed on the ground, tasting something like blood..

Octavia shouted with a concerned tone. "What's wrong?"

"Tripped," I said. "And I think I bit my tongue." With my mouth closed, I ran my tongue along the inside of my gums. Fortunately, my bite hadn't been sharp enough to do any serious damage. I shuddered a bit, considering what my razor-sharp teeth might have done to my tongue if my bite had been just a bit sharper. Higher mouth level meant more dangerous teeth, but did it also mean a more durable tongue? I could only hope.

I heard Octavia's voice behind me. "Can you still walk?"

"Yes," I said, a bit sheepishly as I stood up. I clawed at the ground in front of me, feeling its texture under the softest part of my feet. "Watch your step. It's sandy."

"Sand?" she said. "This far below the surface?"

"It's coarse sand," I said. "Not like the fine sand of the wind-eroded desert. I think that the armored ants may have renovated this tunnel recently, and they didn't completely clean up after themselves."

"Maybe they were making the tunnel bigger so that we could fit through," she said.

I nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."

"That bodes well," she said. "It means they're friendly."

I agreed with Octavia on one level: the fact that they had so recently modified the tunnel to accommodate us did indicate a certain level of friendliness or cooperation on their part, assuming that it wasn't a trap. But recently-constructed tunnels – ones that had yet to prove their worthiness – were always the most dangerous. In all of my time in the underground, I hadn't given much serious thought to the risk of being crushed by rock falling from above, but a lot had changed in the past day – for one thing, Octavia's tunnel network had suffered a cave-in as a result of an attack from a massive dragon smashing into the ground. Who knew how far that damage extended?

I chose not to voice the concerns that ran through my mind – no sense worrying Octavia over things we couldn't control. This was not a world that presented risk-free options; it was simply a matter of choosing the level of risk we wanted to endure. In a world where allyship with the armored ants might be the one thing protecting us from the fire ants who were bent on our extermination, trusting their construction ability seemed like the best option we had.

I did my best to focus on the pathway ahead as I marched down the tunnel. At one point, the light grew so dim I could barely see, until a pair of black armored ants emerged, both carrying thin shards of glowstone, barely the length and width of a pencil.

"They've sent torchbearers to meet us," I said to Octavia as I followed the pair of ants.

"I wonder if this is a diplomatic ritual," she said.

"These ants never struck me as the type for ritual. Or diplomacy, for that matter. I guess they proved me wrong on the second point, so maybe I'm wrong about their capacity for ritual."

"Ants are right at home in the underground tunnels," she said. "That means they're comfortable navigating in darkness. I think they rely on other senses. Maybe they gather glowstone for greeting visitors who aren't blessed with the ability to see in the dark."

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"Maybe," I said. "But the quantity of glowstone they seem interested in amassing seems more than what you'd need for mere torches."

"Maybe they're planning to present us with some ornate glowstone statue," she said.

"Let's not let our expectations get too high," I said. "Besides, we have a pretty ascetic lifestyle, living unburdened by physical possessions. What would we even do with an ornate statue if they presented us with one?"

"Well," said Octavia, "it's the thought that counts. I was just hoping that our ant hosts would be generous. Though, maybe it's best if they don't try to give us any gifts. After all, we didn't bring any gifts with us to reciprocate."

"We already gave them a gift," I said. "Or at least, you did. Remember that webbing you installed to cut off the fire ants, specifically at their behest?"

"That doesn't count as a gift," said Octavia. "That was beneficial for both us and them. If you repaired a fence for your neighbor, you wouldn't call it a gift."

"I might call it a gift," I said. "Especially depending on the cost of the repair job. Suppose you and I agree to repair a fence that runs along both of our yards, and split the cost fifty-fifty. The bill comes out to several hundred dollars. Then, at the last minute, before you can pay your half, I tell you I'm paying for your half and won't take no for an answer. How is that different from a gift?"

"It's a gift," she said. "But it's not a hostess gift."

"Okay," I said, ducking as the passageway's ceiling suddenly grew lower. "It looks like we're still some ways from our destination, so if you see a place to stop to pick up a bottle of wine or a box of chocolates for our hosts, let me know."

"I was thinking of something like a tea cozy, or a pillow," said Octavia. "Something that the hosts will remember you by."

"Gotta know your host," I said. "Which do you think the ants would like more, a box of chocolates, or a tea cozy? Every ant I've known has preferred sweets."

"Well, I could weave them a tea cozy," she said. "I don't know of any places down here that sell chocolates."

"You're right," I said. "This neighborhood really leaves a lot to be desired."

A moment of silence followed. By now, the passage was spacious enough that I could turn back, and I glanced back over my shoulder at Octavia. "Something wrong?"

"No," she said. "I was just thinking about…past lives."

"Ah," I said. "Sorry, I didn't mean to –"

"No, it's alright," she said. "It's just, before, I had a different life, where I worried about things like tea cozies, and charcuterie boards, and boxes of chocolates. And now…I have a different life. Things work differently in this world."

"I know what you mean," I said, not entirely sure that I did.

"Do you think that the leader of the armored ants will be friendly?" she said. "I always felt a tiny bit anxious any time I went over to someone's house for dinner, but at least I had a vague idea of what to expect. The place the ants are leading us to could be anything."

"I get where you're coming from," I said. "But even though our lives are different than they were before, there are things that seem to be true, no matter what. And probably the most important lesson I've learned in life – both this life, and my past life – is that life gets easier when you have friends. I'm not sure where the ants are taking us. I'm not sure how we'll communicate with them, or if we even can communicate with them. But it does seem to me like they want to be our friends, and that makes me hopeful about what the future holds."

"Thank you," said Octavia. "I think I needed to hear that. Lead the way forward, little dragon."

I gave a slight nod, and stepped forward along the tunnel toward the nearest light source. As I put my claw down and shifted my weight forward, I felt nothing underneath me and tumbled forward. Panic set in as I fell through the air, then ended a moment later when I hit the ground with a thump.

Octavia rushed down to me. "Are you okay?" she said, poking at my foreleg.

"Ow. Yes," I said.

"Are you sure you're still not debilitated?" she said. "I'm surprised you tripped like that. It wasn't that steep."

I looked back at where I'd lost my footing. "I'm fine," I said, feeling a bit defensive. "Maybe not as experienced as you are at navigating low-light conditions. Also, I have half as many legs as you, so it's easier for me to trip."

Octavia giggled. "If this is what you're like on four legs, I have to wonder how you got by on two legs."

"Alright!" I said. "Apparently I still have a thing or two to learn about the art of walking. That's been known to happen with creatures that are only a couple weeks old, which I happen to be. I am a 'baby dragon,' after all. Maybe you should lead the way this time."

"I was thinking the same thing," said Octavia, squeezing past me in the narrow passageway.

Two glowing points of light emerged in the passage ahead, painting the dim silhouette of the ants that held them. "Ready?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "We wouldn't want to keep our hosts waiting."

The next several minutes were mercifully free of tripping or any other incidents, though I did take note of the fact that our last minute of walking seemed to take us upward, closer to the surface. The incline was gradual, but as Octavia walked ahead of me, there were several places where her steps disturbed bits of sand which slid backwards down toward me.

Several moments of following the gradual upward slope led us to a chasm – there wasn't enough glowstone for me to see just how high the ceiling was, but I felt a draft. I scanned the area, seeing that the perimeter was dotted with bits of glowstone, and in the dim illumination, I saw ants. That, in itself, wasn't notable, until I realized that all of the ants were stationary, staring directly at me and Octavia.

"You don't usually see ants standing still like that," I said. "It seems like they're always walking somewhere. Even when they're guarding a location, they're always on patrol. I wonder if –"

Suddenly, all of the stationary ants took a step forward in unison. I heard Octavia gasp as the ants surged forward. Then just as quickly, the ants all stepped back, again in perfect unison.

"My apologies, I had no intention of startling you," came a voice from above, its timbre unfamiliar yet distinctly feminine, resonating with a deep, melodious chuckle. "I bid you welcome to my lair. …no, forgive me, the word 'lair' sounds too sinister. Welcome to my home."