Everest
Like a startled horse, for a moment Ever just stares down at Mateo, mesmerized by the patting of the grass. What does it mean? Oh. right. Plopping down (read: collapsing), Ever swallows hard despite how dry his mouth is. "FAST. Face. Arm. Speech. Time." Reaching his fingers up to poke out his cheeks, he gives Mateo a pleading look. "Does my face look droopy?" It hasn't occurred to him yet that he understands what Mateo is saying now, but such is the nature of panic.
Setting aside his imminent death, Ever does as he's told. Flopping forward, he puts his face quite close to the bloom, which, luckily, the bee doesn't seem to mind. "I read once that a bee only makes about a drop of honey in its entire lifetime." He says, frowning. "It makes me feel really bad every time I have honey on my toast. I always say a mental thank-you, because it would have taken so many bees their entire life to make it for me, and then I just ate it for breakfast." Something about that seemed entirely unfair to Ever, and very, very sad.
Setting aside his imminent death, Ever does as he's told. Flopping forward, he puts his face quite close to the bloom, which, luckily, the bee doesn't seem to mind. "I read once that a bee only makes about a drop of honey in its entire lifetime." He says, frowning. "It makes me feel really bad every time I have honey on my toast. I always say a mental thank-you, because it would have taken so many bees their entire life to make it for me, and then I just ate it for breakfast." Something about that seemed entirely unfair to Ever, and very, very sad.
the words you speak
become the house you live in
become the house you live in
