Warren sags against the wooden fence around orchard four. A group of honeybees, sensing his exhaustion makes a break for it. Frantically, they power toward the edge of the orchard. Warren clenches his jaw and throws his mind after them. His vision blurs. He grips the fence post to avoid collapsing.
He’s cleared waves and waves of dead insects from the hives today. He’s stopped burying them—he’d be digging, constantly. And he’s seen the red Varroa mites—the ones that decimated Orchid’s hive in Skyheart village last year—on the workers of one hive. He pleaded with Maxen over it, explained what it could do. Maxen had waved an impatient hand.
“Are they still working?” he’d asked. Warren threw up his hands in frustration.
“For now, but—”
“Then there is no problem. They can live with a few
