"So, uh, what do I call you?" I asked as we started walking. I didn't have any hesitation at putting some distance between ourselves and the ant-lion's treacherous pit.
"Call me?" The scout asked. "I'm a scout, just like you."
I thought about giving her my name, and trying to explain my situation. She seemed a little too within the category of one-track mind to fully comprehend. She wasn't content to follow me lead. She kept striking out ahead as we journeyed, but I managed to always keep track of my home, which loomed over the canopy of towering blades of grass which comprised my lawn.
"What, uh, exactly should we scout for?" I asked at one point.
"Oh, anything, really," the scout answered. "Food, mostly." She shared an exciting story and I realized that she was describing a recent find — a half-eaten candy bar dropped on the ground in its wrapper — that she had made. I got the "image" of the enormous bar of chocolate when she pressed the tips of her antennae against mine.
"Whoa!" I stepped back, shocked.
"What's wrong?"
What could I tell her? That I was new to ant telepathy? "Nothing," I decided. "Just that was one big food discovery you made."
"We had to harvest it quickly," she said. "Didn't want raiders to find it?"
"Raiders?"
"Oh, yes," she said. "They're the worst."
She touched antennae to mine again, and I got a mental image of formidable, heavily armored ants with mandibles that looked like mowing scythes.
"If you've never encountered any raiders, consider yourself fortunate," she said.
If nothing else, I wanted back in my house and back into contact with the amulet. The image of those nightmarish ants haunted me. I needed to get back to my human life, the sooner the better. Who knew a suburban lawn could be such a savage jungle?
I was about to suggest we move faster toward that goal when...