On Dogavios, hardly anyone listened to the tiny ant. She spoke so softly that her voice felt like a tickle in the air. Hardly anyone. The flowers listened.
That afternoon, Pigúiça was racing across the meadow when a big flower with a smiling face called out: “Hey, Pigúiça! Watch where you step! Someone's on the path.”
Pigúiça stopped with her paw in the air. She lowered her nose to the ground. And there, in the middle of the trail, came a tiny ant carrying a cookie crumb three times bigger than she was. She climbed a pebble, came down, stumbled, fixed the crumb, and kept going.
“Hi!” said Pigúiça. The puff of her hello made the little ant tumble over. “Ow, ow!” said a very thin voice. “Sorry!” whispered Pigúiça, much more softly now.
“My name is Zizi,” said the ant, dusting herself off. “I have to take this home before dark. My home is on the other side of the meadow.”
“I'll carry it!” offered Pigúiça. “I'll pick you up in my mouth and we'll be there in a flash!” “No, thank you,” said Zizi, firmly. “If someone picks me up without asking, I get scared. But I like that you want to help.”
Pigúiça blinked. Nobody had ever told her that asking first is also a way of helping. “Then can I help another way?” “You can. Keep an eye out for pebbles and wait for my pace.”
Waiting for Zizi's pace was slow, slow, very slow. Pigúiça wanted to run, to jump, to get there already. But she stayed right beside her, and then she noticed things she had never seen: a ladybug sleeping on a leaf, a drop shining on a stem, the shadow of a bird passing high above.
“When we walk slowly,” she thought, “beautiful things have time to show up.”
When they reached the anthill, dozens of ants came out, in a line, to help carry the crumb. One grabbed, one pushed, one sang to keep the rhythm. Pigúiça had never seen so many little ones together.
“Little ones are strong, too,” said Zizi. “We're just not fast.” And the cookie crumb disappeared inside the anthill, carried by a parade of tiny feet.
The sun was already low. “Good night, Pigúiça. Will you come by again tomorrow? But watch where you step.” “I will,” promised Pigúiça. “And I'll tell Fofuxo too.”
That night, lying in her bed, Pigúiça thought about all the little ones in the world: the ants, the ladybugs, the seeds sleeping under the soil. They were all asleep too, very quietly.
“Good night, Zizi,” she whispered. And, very softly, as softly as a tiny ant, she fell asleep.
