Brother From Another Hill

I saw him as he shambled toward the entrance. The wind ruffled his hair, but he did not seem to notice. Clods of dirt fell with each step. An air of dazed dejection hovered about him.

I stepped back from my vantage point as a knock echoed throughout our home. Everyone stopped what they were doing and, in unison, turned toward our makeshift door. I must admit that it was not a pretty fixture, but it slowed those down who meant us harm.

A visitor who knocked was rare here. I took a moment to gather myself before striding to the door to greet this sad and disheveled visitor.

“Who goes there,” I demanded.

“A brother from another hill,” came the reply.

I muscled the door open and took a closer look at the stranger. It was then that I noticed he was 

missing an eye, and when he moved back to allow for the swing of the door, I could see that one leg bent in an odd manner. Whatever he had been through, it was not good. I scanned the horizon, hoping he had not been followed.

I motioned him in, and he entered as quickly as his awkward gate allowed. I closed the door.

He looked ready to collapse, so I offered him an arm and ushered him to a chair.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “You are most kind.”

I handed him a drink. He sipped and shuddered, unsuccessfully attempting to stanch the tears that 

flowed from his eyes. They created trails of clean skin, vertical stripes in the grime on his face.

“I’m looking for a place,” he told me. “They… blew mine up.”

My eyes widened.

“Who blew it up?”

“Some of the two-legged, two-handed,” he replied. “Adolescents, I think.”

He swallowed hard, resolve gleaming in his eyes. He would tell their story and remember.

“We were finishing work for the day. Those who had assignments outside were on their way back. 

Our infants were in the nursery. Before we could gather for dinner, the two-legged, two-handed shoved something through our door. It sparked with fire before exploding. My brothers and sisters were blown up. Some disintegrated on the spot. Some were thrown from our home and consumed by predators.

“I am the only survivor.” Here, he paused, straightened his antennae, and looked me in the eye. “And now I am here, with you, asking for a place and help to avenge my colony.”

I paused for only a moment.

“This is now your place, and our colony is your colony. We march at dawn.”