The Abatwa's Ant Riders

Aunt Bramble
Wyrdlore Society

In the tall grass of southern Africa, so the old stories say, there live people no taller than your finger. They are called the Abatwa, and they are said to be the smallest people in the world.

They are so small that a single blade of grass can hide a whole village of them. They are so small that they ride ants the way we might ride ponies, trotting along paths only they can see, between the roots and the stems.

The Abatwa do not much like to be seen. When a grown-up walks by, they duck down flat and go still as stones, and the grown-up never knows they were there at all. But children sometimes catch a glimpse. So do mothers who are soon to welcome a new baby; the old stories say the Abatwa let themselves be seen by those about to bring new life into the world, as a kind of greeting.

If you should ever meet one, the tales say you must be careful how you answer their questions, because the Abatwa are clever, quick with words, and fond of finding out whether you are wise or only guessing. Answer well, and you go on your way with good fortune folded into your pocket. Answer poorly, and the Abatwa simply slip back into the grass and leave you to find your own way home.

They know every path through the veld. They know which ant is strongest, which blade of grass bends softest, which patch of shade is best for hiding at midday. They have been riding their small swift steeds since long before anyone thought to write any of it down.

So next time you walk through long grass, in a story or in your own garden, look down. Somewhere near your foot, on the back of an ant no bigger than a seed, someone the size of your littlest finger might be riding past just then, minding their own business, going wherever it is the Abatwa go.

Aunt Bramble keeps the Society's stories for its smallest members. She has never been anywhere in a hurry, owns a very old coat with very deep pockets, and holds that a story does not have to be tidy to be true.