Honey Shroom's Arc

Chapter 4 of 11

By morning, two hives near the cracked ground stood silent. Honey Shroom walked the meadow and counted the empty combs twice. The bees had left in the night, drifting toward the tree line without a sound. He stared at the jagged split in the soil and felt the weight of it settle in his chest. If he waited longer, the rest of the hives would follow. Whatever lived below had pushed his bees out, and he had to answer before the meadow emptied. He knelt beside one of the deserted boxes. The carved hexagons on its face looked hollow now, the entry holes dark and still. No hum, no guard bees, no movement on the landing board. The second box stood the same way a few paces off, its honeycomb shapes empty as windows. Honey Shroom ran a finger along the wood and felt the cold where warmth should have been. He dragged planks from the shed and built a low platform near the trench. The wood was rough but flat, raised just enough to keep him above the shifting soil. From there he could see the full length of the fault line — jagged stone edges, layers of clay and dirt exposed along the walls, loose rocks tumbled along the floor. He climbed onto the platform and watched. He would not guess. He would not move the smoker back yet. He would learn what came out of the ground before he chose his next step. An hour passed before the remaining hives began to hum louder, a steady warning note rolling across the meadow. Honey Shroom stood on the platform and made his choice. He carried the two empty boxes away from the cracked ground and set them at the far edge of the meadow, near the tree line where his bees had fled. If the others were going to leave, they would find shelter waiting. The abandoned hives were lost — but the meadow was not, not yet.