There is A thrill in falling. This thrill is the reason why skydiving is a pastime and the sort of pastime I always pass on. To say that the thrill of falling, after countless tumbles, from titanium levitation to sliding down a ravine, was getting old, would be an understatement. After I tumbled, river and all, back into the river-worn chasm, I was done with it. I was done with anything that involved me in the air.
I plodded up to the surface of the raging, angry water and watched as the little chickens lifted up the Ambassador and started carrying him off into the forest. I swam to shore and collapsed on my back, staring up at the blue sky and wished so much that I wasn't going to be up there ever again.
"We have to go up there again," Macie said, her head popping into view and blotting out half the sky. "We just booked a flight."
"Wait, what?" I asked.
"We have to go to Bamboo Island, in the Zoicterranean Sea," Chevron said, his head appearing and blocking the rest of my view.
"We have to go up there?" I asked and pointed up. I didn't want to go up anymore. "I don't want to go up anymore."
"Where's the Ambassador?" Macie asked.
"He got kidnapped by a bunch of chickens." I said. "A magic trick gone wrong, I think. They carried him off into the woods."
"Great Scott!" Chevron said, his mouth a gap.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Best cancel those plane tickets," he said. "Those were no chickens."
"But Selina Veronica West and Seamus Bartholomew Gorsuch the III?" Macie said, she looked at me. "And Rick?"
"They are fine," Chevron said. "It's these other chickens. They are not chickens at all."
"What are they?" Macie asked.
"The Disguiseious Antadextrous, the elusive Ant of Mappleton. More commonly known as the Actor Ant."
"The Actor Ant?" I asked.
"Yeah, sure," Chevron said. "You have the worker, the solider—and the actor."
“Great Zander!” Macie said. “And they were...?"
"Yes,” Chevron said. “They were acting!"
And we looked to where the Ambassador had been taken, the woods looming menacingly in front of us.