Upon the grass stands the white house of the bees, the wooden panels still wet with raindrops. There is a gentle buzz in the air, a sense of business that comes with such creatures and somehow it belongs here as much as the wildflowers that bloom. Anya takes her rest upon a rock and lets her eyes do the dreaming, her brain weaving reality and an array of fantasies. The hive is something of beauty to her, a sweet community making something so amazing in a way she never could.
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