Solma gets up, staring around the glade. Something inside her lifts, like a bee taking flight, and she listens to that glorious hum.
Bee song.
It drifts around them in soft tremolo, full of industry. They watch the tiny shapes darting in and out of the light. One lands on Warren’s shirt and he looks down as it cleans its antennae. It turns and stares up at him, those multi-faceted eyes gleaming with iridescence.
“I knew,” Warren says. “You didn’t believe me, but I knew.”
Solma shakes her head. “You did,” she says, still staring at the tiny, darting shapes zooming in and out of the light.
“Knew what?” asks the girl in the blue robes, making all three of them jump. Solma smiles.
“My brother …” she says, then wonders how on Earth she’s supposed to explain it. “You tell her, War.”
Warre
