Her home was a toadstool between Millsbury and Ash, her closest friend the ant named Zeus. She lived in a sliver of shadow beneath the Old Oak Tree where the rest of the Tinies dared not dwell. There were critters and crawlies and cats about, but she knew no fear. By the acorn shield upon her back, by the thorn she wielded as a weapon, she would protect all in her charge for she was the guardian and bravest of them all.
It was Thomas the Tiny who heralded the danger, the ferocious wasp they’d come to call Sting. Sting had cornered two of the wee ones in the grass blade orchard, trying to impale them with his great brute stinger. And so it was that she mounted her faithful steed, kicking her heels into Zeus’s sides and leading him to war.
She heard the wasp before she saw him, the huzzing buzzing of his flippy flap wings ruffling her hair. She foisted her acorn and readied her thorn, her voice bellowing for blood. Zeus charged into battle, his feet skidding through the late spring dew. Sting whirled upon them both, malice glinting in his black wasp eyes. He dove for her heart with an ear-shaking BUZZZZ, and she braced her body for impact, her shield secured to take the brunt. The stabber narrowly missing her tender, purple flesh, sliding off the acorn with a sibilant hiss. With a prayer to the Tiny God of Valor, she brought her thorn down, cutting across the demon bug’s lance. The beast screeched in anguish as his weapon snapped in twain, his once-great stinger now useless upon the ground.
Sting flapped his wings and soared for the skies, bursting through the green canopy overhead to flee for his life. She lifted his broken lance and praised Valor, beseeching her for Her blessings on the morrow. For all that the danger was vanquished today, she knew in her heart that Sting would return.
And she would be ready for him.