An Old Bee [Heard] {July 3010}
Jun 12, 2018 9:22:53 GMT -5
Post by Astrudr on Jun 12, 2018 9:22:53 GMT -5
A bouquet of heather was bundled within an earthen jar upon the windowsill, carefully tatted lace gifted by a mannish trader was wrapped about it as a bow. The heather was bobbing in the spring breezes, and here and there flitted small honeybees which came seeking nectar from the skeps nearest the house. A hum and drone could be heard coming from every which way, and some flew in one window and out the other.
Astrudr, better known to those of her people as 'Trudie', glanced out the window. Eyes, a deep shade of amber loamed over the tall grasses of the meadow which grew on the outskirts of the forest in the vale. It was not far off beyond the rolling hills in front of them; Trudie could see the Carrock pluming up toward the fluffy white clouds of the sky. Their house was on the outskirts of the village; nearest that to where the tolls were taken. Heard would not be long now, and fresh honeycakes were in the oven.
A large bumblebee sat perched upon the purple florets of the heather bouquet; not a bee of the hives, for the honeybees she raised were a different variety, yet this was a fat bee; an old bee. A bee which had lived already a season or two, and come to misfortune. Trudie had found her in the meadow that morning, clinging to a flower petal. She was missing her wings.
“There now, clever girl,” Trudie whispered, putting out a finger as the small, sticky claws of the bee grasped hold of her rough hand, and she crawled onto it. “Now you've had a nice drink of that nectar,” she hummed to herself, and the bee. “Orvin and Wilona'll gather some fresh blooms in the morn.” The bee curled her legs beneath her and settled quite still, taking a small nap in the palm of Trudie's hand, while she leaned on her elbows on the windowsill, listening to the calls of her grandchildren and watching the rustle of grass as they played off a ways in the meadow.
On the scent of a fresh wind, the bee awoke suddenly, and Trudie raised her hand in front of her face, humming as she brushed the velvety stripes of the bee against her nose. Then did the bee make a grasp and a clutch, and crawl right upon the tip of her nose, quite content and pleased to stay just there, and Trudie laughed with a titter and let her remain, crossing her arms again, while she caught sight of the bristled mane of Heard coming through the meadow path.
Astrudr, better known to those of her people as 'Trudie', glanced out the window. Eyes, a deep shade of amber loamed over the tall grasses of the meadow which grew on the outskirts of the forest in the vale. It was not far off beyond the rolling hills in front of them; Trudie could see the Carrock pluming up toward the fluffy white clouds of the sky. Their house was on the outskirts of the village; nearest that to where the tolls were taken. Heard would not be long now, and fresh honeycakes were in the oven.
A large bumblebee sat perched upon the purple florets of the heather bouquet; not a bee of the hives, for the honeybees she raised were a different variety, yet this was a fat bee; an old bee. A bee which had lived already a season or two, and come to misfortune. Trudie had found her in the meadow that morning, clinging to a flower petal. She was missing her wings.
“There now, clever girl,” Trudie whispered, putting out a finger as the small, sticky claws of the bee grasped hold of her rough hand, and she crawled onto it. “Now you've had a nice drink of that nectar,” she hummed to herself, and the bee. “Orvin and Wilona'll gather some fresh blooms in the morn.” The bee curled her legs beneath her and settled quite still, taking a small nap in the palm of Trudie's hand, while she leaned on her elbows on the windowsill, listening to the calls of her grandchildren and watching the rustle of grass as they played off a ways in the meadow.
On the scent of a fresh wind, the bee awoke suddenly, and Trudie raised her hand in front of her face, humming as she brushed the velvety stripes of the bee against her nose. Then did the bee make a grasp and a clutch, and crawl right upon the tip of her nose, quite content and pleased to stay just there, and Trudie laughed with a titter and let her remain, crossing her arms again, while she caught sight of the bristled mane of Heard coming through the meadow path.