The Canyon Hideout
The canyon hideout of the grasshoppers pulsed with rowdy energy, a den of noise and indulgence far from the hunger and desperation they enforced on others. Music blared from a ragged band, their mandibles and limbs pounding out a raucous rendition of La Cucaracha. A grasshopper skimmed across loose seeds as if they were water, water-skiing with reckless abandon.
“Wahoo! Look at me! I’m barefootin’!” he whooped, as another shouted for more grain to snack on. Laughter and voices rose into the smoky air, the gang relaxed and overfed.
“Face it,” one of them grumbled lazily, “we’ve got more than enough food. If we go all the way back there and it rains, we might as well be suckin’ bug spray.”
Molt perked up immediately, his wide eyes blinking. “Ooh! Don’t even say that! But you know something? You’re making a lot of sense. Why take the risk? Hopper doesn’t even like grain!” His chest puffed a little. “I should tell him.”
The others smirked at each other. “Good idea. You’re his brother. That makes you the vice president of the gang.”
Molt beamed at the title, letting it roll around in his head like candy. “Vice President Molt,” he said, savoring it. “Yeah… that’s good.”
At the far side of the cavern, Hopper lounged with his eyes closed, antennae twitching as two grasshoppers rubbed his shoulders.
Molt shuffled up nervously. “Heya, Hop.”
Hopper didn’t even look. “Go away.”
“That’s fine,” Molt said quickly, wringing his claws together. “Then I won’t tell you my idea.”
“Good.”
Molt hesitated, then blurted it out anyway. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. See, I’ve been thinking. Why go back to Ant Island at all? You don’t even like grain.”
Hopper’s head snapped up. “What?!”
Panic fluttered across Molt’s face. “You’re right. Bad idea. Not even mine! It was Axle and Loco’s! They confused me with their fancy words!”
The music swelled, and Hopper rose, his wings flexing. “Order another round. We’re staying here!”
A cheer went up. Seeds were tossed in the air, laughter echoing against the canyon walls. For a moment, it seemed Hopper himself had given in to the comfort of their stolen abundance.
But then his expression darkened. “What was I thinking? Going back to Ant Island… we’ve got enough here to last us through winter.” He paused, his voice dropping. “But there was that ant. The one who stood up to me.”