My wings sprout capable and strong, taking flight from the safety of my home in search of a queen abroad. Instinct guides me, but I know too that I have a duty to be fruitful. To consummate with the queen is to continue my species. Only in numbers can we have strength.
But there lies a hindrance. My obligation and my desires are in opposition. How can I perform my duty to antkind while my senses ignite at the pheremones of the other male who soars in the sky right beside me?
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