The enraged wasps trailed after Ted for a short distance before returning home. Zenandra waited and watched at the nest entrance. She had not joined in the assault. Her wings were frayed and worn from the friction of inserting her body into thousands of paper cells. Her abdomen was heavy with the weight of egg-laden ovaries. The queen’s flying days were over, but she still buzzed a little at the memory of her lost aerial life.
The rising heat made her retreat into the dimness of the nest. Hundreds of white-capped brood cells hung from the roof, containing pupae on the point of emergence. Pride swelled Zenandra’s tiny insect heart. She moved to join her daughters, fanning her battered old wings in time with theirs.
The successful attack on Ted had proved enormously taxing for the colony.
