Предмет: Литература, автор: L1VeRz

Хто такий Мурашиний Лев?

Ответы

Автор ответа: kespsrc
1

Ответ:Длина переднего крыла взрослых особей от 33 до 40 мм (крылья прозрачные с буровато-чёрными жилками), длина брюшка от 20 до 28 мм; усики короткие булавовидные. Личинки живут на песчаных почвах, где роют воронковидные ловчие ямки, на дне которых закапываются и поджидают добычу с открытыми челюстями. Диплоидный хромосомный набор 2n=12 (у самца половые хромосомы XY)[3][4].

Вид был впервые описан в 1767 году шведским натуралистом Карлом Линнеем. Таксон Myrmeleon formicarius включён в состав рода Myrmeleon вместе с европейским муравьиным львом (Myrmeleon europaeus) и отнесён к трибе Myrmeleontini из подсемейства Myrmeleontinae[3].

Объяснение:

Похожие вопросы
Предмет: Русский язык, автор: мия111111111
Предмет: Английский язык, автор: makogonalina
Переведите пж,очень нужно
I wondered: Find our way to where? It occurred to me that, in our rush to escape the island, I had only ever heard the children talk about reaching the mainland, but we’d never discussed what to do once we got there—as if the idea of actually surviving the journey in those tiny boats was so far-fetched, so comically optimistic, that planning for it was a waste of time. I looked to Emma for reassurance, as I often did. She gazed darkly down the beach. The stony sand backed up to low dunes swaying with saw grass. Beyond was forest: an impenetrable-looking barrier of green that continued in both directions as far as I could see. Emma with her now-lost map had been aiming for a certain port town, but after the storm hit, just making it to dry land had become our goal. There was no telling how far we’d strayed off course. There were no roads I could see, or signposts, or even footpaths. Only wilderness.

Of course, we didn’t really need a map, or a signpost, or anything else. We needed Miss Peregrine—a whole, healed one—the Miss Peregrine who would know just where to go and how to get us there safely. The one perched before us now, fanning her feathers dry on a boulder, was as broken as her maimed wing, which hooked downward in an alarming V. I could tell it pained the children to see her like this. She was supposed to be their mother, their protector. She’d been queen of their little island world, but now she couldn’t speak, couldn’t loop time, couldn’t even fly. They saw her and winced and looked away.

Miss Peregrine kept her eyes trained on the slate-gray sea. They were hard and black and contained unutterable sorrow.

They seemed to say: I failed you…