In the center if the clearing stood a wooden dais, carved from a single mighty oak branch. The shade of grassy fronds lay deep over the ring of spectators circling the dais, a motley band of insects, arachnids and other denizens of the undergrowth. From the crawling ranks scuttled forth a black shelled beetle of great size, barely fitting on the oaken platform. Turning to the watchers, it clicked its mandibles and began to talk in the hissing tones of the little-speech.

"Greetings friends and compatriots, I come before you this day to tell you of a threat to all underlife, the magnitude of which has not been seen for generations. When the sun lay low today in the upwards arc of its celestial journey, a great beast ravaged my pastures and all the lands of the Spruce Frond Beetles. Luckily no one was killed, the beast being too slow to catch even the weakest of our kingdom, but many larvae were lost, and much prey was chased from the area. The neighbouring kingdoms have been extraordinarily generous in their support of the refugees who landed on their borders, for which I am eternally grateful, but if we are to halt this trampling of all of our fields, a more concerted effort must be enacted."

The beetle scuttled off the platform, to the nervous chitterings of all those present. It had been many lifetimes since this patch of the plains had experienced such a crisis, and few of the members present had the knowledge nor wisdom to mount a response. As the noise reached a crescendo, an outsider buzzed into the center of the ring, a mosquito from lands afar. "Before I begin, let me thank you all for welcoming me to your circle. Not all congregations are so willing to let travellers join in their sharing, and it is a great honour to be able to contribute my tidings to the community. I know of the beast mentioned by the beetle of the Spruce Frond Kingdom, and have seen it with all the many facets of my eyes. At the apex of the sun's ascent I spotted it, a member of the species of man. Many of you would recognise their giant brothers and sisters only by the hardness of their feet, but us mosquitoes have an intricate and detailed understanding of these creatures. The member I spied had only two limbs, as opposed to the four that the more common species has. It was using its forelimbs, the legs that hang uselessly from its thorax in most species, to pull itself along the ground, a behaviour that I have never observed in any of the myriad men I have seen. Word on the wings is that a great swarm of men have been moving near this area recently, most of whom belong to the Hard Shell species. These men have skin impenetrable to our feeding spikes, a feature that was missing from the man that I saw, but it is possible that it comes from that group. Either way, its blood was just as filling as that of the other families of man, and it was my last meal before arriving here."

Returning back to the circle, the spectators began their chitterings once again. Even with this new knowledge, none of the bugs present had the bravery to step forward and propose a solution. A great rumbling suddenly filled the clearing, and all eyes turned to the old field mouse that often hung around at the edges of the meeting. Not bothering to plant itself on the dais, which was a tenth of its size, it began speaking its contribution from the edge of the clearing. "I too have seen this man, and I can assure you that its missing legs were due to injury, as when I came upon it during the downward arc of the sun's journey, it was dead. Although I have little experience with the ways of these creatures, I have heard that they tend to hide small morsels in their fur, so I quickly set about scurrying over the body in search. I did not unfortunately find anything to eat, but I did notice some things that might help to explain this peculiar situation. looking over its forelimbs I noticed that its front toes were torn and bloody, as if it had been walking for days, and its eyes were filled with terror. I must confess that when I saw those eyes I jumped in fright and scurried into the grass, for I have only seen such eyes in the skulls of mice moments away from slaughter, and I was filled with fear at the thought of a predator that could frighten such a giant. I quickly realised my foolishness however, as during my investigation I had found no such pursuer, leaving me to ponder what had instilled such terror in its eyes."

Having told its story, the field mouse settled back down into the crowd, but the chitterings failed to resume in vigour. Despite the strangeness of the events, all the denizens of the undergrowth could understand the mortal fear of pursuit, and they all shared a moment of silence for the beast's brave flight from the invisible hunter.