Beatrice Bee had flown across all of Seasons World, and she owned nothing but her wings. She wanted to explore this place freely, sipping nectar wherever she pleased. But tonight her legs ached, her honey stomach was empty, and she had nowhere to sleep. She landed on a fence post and watched the sun drop. A wild bee could not last long with no place to store food or rest. She had gathered pollen all day and had nowhere to put it. Her leg baskets bulged and cramped. When the wind rose, she shivered. A bird crossed overhead, and Beatrice pressed flat against the wood until it passed. She needed walls, a roof, a corner that was hers. Below her stretched a wide field thick with purple and yellow blossoms. The grass grew dense and tall. Beatrice dropped into it and crawled under a leaf. It was better than open sky, but only barely. Rain would flood it. A beetle already lived under the next stem. This meadow fed her, but it could not shelter her. At first light she climbed a tall stalk to see farther. Across the field stood a wooden building. Flower boxes hung under every window, spilling blossoms she recognized. Carved vines framed the door. Small letters near the roof spelled out a welcome. It was an inn. Beatrice flew straight for it. An inn meant beds and food and doors that closed. But a bee could not rent a room. She had no coins, and no innkeeper would hand a key to an insect. She circled the flower boxes, hunting for a way in. Then she found it. High under the eaves, a knot had fallen out of a plank. The hole was just wide enough for a bee. She squeezed through and dropped into a hollow space between the walls. Dry sawdust lined the floor. No wind reached her here. No bird could follow. Beatrice explored her find. The gap ran the length of the wall, tall enough to build in. A crack let morning light through. Best of all, the flower boxes sat right outside the knot-hole. Food and shelter, one wingbeat apart. She emptied her leg baskets against the far wall and pressed the pollen into a firm cake. She worked until noon shaping wax into cells. She capped her first cell of honey and sealed the pollen store beside it. For the first time since reaching Seasons World, Beatrice had a pantry. She had a home. She crawled to the knot-hole and looked out at the meadow. Now she could roam as far as she liked and always return to safe walls. But near the door below, a broom scraped the boards. The innkeeper was sweeping. Soon that person would notice new wax under the eaves, and decide what to do about a bee who had moved in without asking.