An ant hill looks well-constructed beneath a rock, but one good rain will still flush it out.

[ she looks up, considers the striations in the leviathan's stretched wing. her lip curls a little — disdain not for what they've built here, but for her own powerlessness, and the way that just clinging to the surface of this planet and praying they won't slip off is such a low ambition. ]

There's no future here — for them, or us.