Solma’s never going to get any sleep at this rate. Every time Warren stirs, she snaps out of her doze and is on instant alert. And he’s restless tonight, muttering in his dreams. Moonlight streams through the laced tent flaps, illuminating the frown on his face. He’s whispering about twisted wings and at one point, Solma hears him ask, “what’s that, in your fur? That red thing?”
Is he talking to the bees in his sleep? Probably. They’re all delirious with tiredness and fear. It’s no wonder.
Three weeks since Tobias disappeared and not a sign of him. The Whisperers have searched the surrounding forests. Cobra said, yesterday, that it’s like she can feel something’s wrong, like she can feel Tobias’ signal—his power—out there somewhere, but when she gets far enough into the forest, it wanes.
