You are marching with your sisters, your mind occupied with the job at hand. The ground under your feet is warm, the terrain rough, but you have become accustomed to this since your first mission. The sun warms your armor, and it seems like you have been marching for eons. You hope that the scout had been accurate when they had reported their findings, and you listen to the sounds of distant enemies, flying high overhead, their presence an annoyance that you have become accustomed to.  The trek takes you over huge hills, down deep valleys, occasionally through deep gorges. In many places you travel through areas where the vegetation towers over you and blocks out the sun. In these shady places you lose sight of your friends, but you can always hear them, ahead, behind, and around you. You are an individual, and you are a swarm. You and your comrades  do not stop, even when a friend is swept away by the river that you have to travel along. Finally, you reach your destination. The picnic is over, but the giants have left a feast behind. You grab a piece of bread and turn back, passing some of your sisters who are still making their way to the target.


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