Page 9 of Ashes, Apples, & Amorous Orcs

Garron straightens his back, relief evident as he brushes sawdust from his palms.

"Well, she's obviously in capable hands now that you're here again. I'll head back to town—got Mrs. Hartwell's shutters to repair before the afternoon rain."

He gathers his tools with efficient movements, clearly happy to escape both the heavy lifting and the buzzing. His wagon disappears down the path, leaving me alone with Draven and three more hives to move.

Draven shrugs, already approaching the second hive.

"Which one next?"

I point to the largest colony, watching as he lifts it without any visible strain. His movements remain controlled despite the weight, and he places each hive exactly where I indicate without needing detailed instructions.

We fall into an easy rhythm—me directing placement and checking the colonies for stress, him handling the physical labor with quiet efficiency. The bees seem to approve of his steady hands; their agitated humming settles back to the contented drone of a healthy hive.

"The queen cells look stable." I peer through the observation window of the third hive, noting the organized pattern of honeycomb. "They should adapt to the new location within a day or two."

Draven positions the final hive with the same careful precision as the others, then steps back to survey our work. Four wooden boxes sit in perfect alignment on their platform, already beginning to integrate into the orchard's peaceful rhythm.

"Bees make no sense." Draven wipes his hands on his trousers, studying the orderly rows of hives with the same expression he might reserve for an unsolvable puzzle. "I track animals that follow predictable patterns—hunger, territory, survival. These things build geometric cities and dance to communicate."

I can't help but smile at his bewildered tone.

"The dancing actually makes perfect sense once you understand the language. A figure-eight pattern tells the colony where to find nectar—the angle indicates direction relative to the sun, and the duration of the waggle run communicates distance."

His golden-brown eyes narrow slightly, processing this information with the same intensity he probably applies to reading tracks.

"You speak their language."

"I speak efficiency. Bees waste nothing—every action serves the colony's survival. They're probably more logical than most humans I know."

I move to the first hive, checking the entrance for activity. Worker bees emerge in steady streams, already beginning to scout their new territory. Their purposeful movements contrast sharply with Draven's stillness as he watches me work.

"My lavender variety comes from a specific cultivation process. I maintain three separate apiaries—one for standard wildflower honey, one for pure lavender, and one for experimental infusions."

"Experimental?"

"Rose petals in spring, elderflower in summer. Each batch requires different timing, different flower-to-bee ratios. The lavender honey Maddie uses takes six weeks of controlled feeding schedules."

Draven leans against a nearby apple tree, arms crossed, but his attention remains fixed on my explanations. Unlike most people who ask about beekeeping out of polite curiosity, he listens with genuine focus.

"The goal isn't just honey production—it's establishing sustainable trade routes. Harvest Hollow sits at the intersection of three major merchant paths. If I can secure contracts here, it opens access to the northern settlements and the coastal markets."

"Business expansion."

"Survival expansion. Small producers like me need multiple revenue streams. One failed harvest, one disrupted trade route, and everything collapses."

I adjust the entrance reducer on the second hive, noting how quickly the bees have oriented themselves to the new location. Their adaptability impresses me every time.

"Most people see honey as a simple commodity. They don't understand the complexity behind each jar—the relationship between beekeeper and colony, the seasonal variables, the market timing."

Draven's head tilts slightly, and I realize he's drawing parallels to his own work. Tracking probably involves similar layers of complexity that others overlook.

"Like reading sign in the forest."

"Exactly. Surface observations miss the deeper patterns."

The morning sun climbs higher, warming the orchard and encouraging more bee activity. Draven remains motionless except for his eyes, which track my movements with the same careful attention he probably gives to potential threats.

But surely I'm no threat to him.