"Old blind man, can't the races of this world live together in peace?"
"Sigh!" The old man beside him knocked the dirt from his shoe. Ants scattered in every direction beneath his foot. "Look at the ants on the ground. You never even give them a proper glance, yet without meaning to, you've already become the enemy who killed their kin. If one of them suddenly spoke up and said it wanted to be your friend, wouldn't you find that ridiculous?"
The boy crouched down, seeming to grasp something. He looked up at the old man's hollow eye sockets. "Why did you hurt my friend?"
"You... what?"
The boy stood and repeated himself. "I asked you, why did you hurt my friend?"
The old man stared in astonishment and slowly straightened up. He pointed his pipe stem at the ants on the ground, as if seeking confirmation.
The boy nodded solemnly and carefully picked up an ant. "That's right. We've depended on each other since we were little."
"Damn it! What are you raving about now?" The old man slipped and hurriedly fled into the empty air. "You little brat, I don't have anything valuable on me!"
The old man's figure vanished, leaving only the boy by the stone table. He lowered his eyes to his palm. "So, which one of us is the ant...?"
