717! You are behaving like a demented bluebottle - stop that!

Then kindly recall that variation is not the same as deformity.

The beech leaves surged and shimmered in the wind. Far below, a vixen paused to stare up, then melted away. Stars burned tiny holes in the twilight and then a pale moon traced a slow silver arc through the sky.

In the empty lobby outside the Dance Hall she paused to scent the air from the landing board. The orchard was sweet and cool in the rising dawn, and the rain had almost stopped. The comb began to thrum as the hive awoke and the multitude of sisters began moving. Once desperate to be out on the wing, Flora no longer wanted to forage, only to be still and breather sweet wax.

The egg in her belly glowed bright inside her like a tiny sun.

The bee's life is like a magic well: the more you draw from it, the more it fills with water

Handle a book as a bee does a flower, extract its sweetness but do not damage it.