In which honey is a solution

He was down, but not defeated. He would make his scales shine. He knew he could. All he needed was a good rest, a chance to think it all over. As he sat and thought, a strange sound pushed its way through his tunnel visioned ponderings. It was soft, persistent, melodic, and natural. As he listened to it, he realized it was the answer to his problem.

He decided to find its source. He pulled himself up and wandered deeper into the woods, past the creepy old haystack he always sensed was more than it appeared. He wandered past the huge tree, the one that stretched into the sky without end. He wandered past the marshy land at the mouth of the river and finally came out in a flat area full of that same persistent, melodic sound, and the small fuzzy creatures that made it.

There was his answer: the honey bees and their precious liquid amber, with its deep bronze glow and it sticky sweet flavor. He wandered into the meadow, ignoring the angry sounds of the bees, and straight to the first hive he found. He grabbed the top of the hive, slicing through it easily with his razor-sharp claws, and then cupped his paw and began his transformation. He hummed as he plopped the honey on, sure that this amber luminescence would soon infuse his dull scales and he would be beautiful.

September 18th, 2008

In which honey is a solution

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