The star had set. The bipeds were separated from the bee. He was kept in a box somewhere within the lion's reach. Wolfheze and Arnitikós were resting on the ground, facing one another, each to an opposing wall. For a moment, her eyes were wide open, and its lone crimson shone briefly. It alerted the blonde. He was startled. Oh, it's nothing, he thought. Then he succumbed to a nap, yet again. A howl of wind woke him up. He suspected it might be that she was being playful again, but he gazed at her; she was snoring and curling on the ground. Oh, he thought, must be the wind. Then Wolfheze heard a yell from afar — amidst the quiet night! 'Meeeewwwwwwoooooo!' He awoke yet again, startled. The puerile was nowhere to be found. Arnitikós! Where are you — he looked at his left; it felt warm, and there she leaned against his shoulder. He felt relieved. He then gazed up at the starry night and witnessed endless shooting stars, accompanied by the sky's hue, which was bright of blue and comforting violet. Why, he thought as he felt the puerile's gentle breaths, why am I caring for the source of my suffering? He then gazed at her calm and content face, adding, what would they think of me? From the comfort of my ice craze all the way to her throne. What was the cost of it? This world. It is this world of strange-looking creatures — are these things what Elias had told me about? Beautiful and colourful beasts of all shapes and sizes? Oh, I miss arguing with Ellinxos.
Wolfheze looked — stared at the palm of his right hand, it was bruised. It was ironic — in comparison to other realities — that almost all of these cuts are caused by frozen water. . . ice! He thought, Why did he have to hunt for ice? It surely was her; without her misshaped world, my people wouldn't have to starve and die for water — it's just like what Elias said: 'Water was infinitely abundant and always in reach.'
Oh, blast it, he accepted. At least water isn't scarce in this world. They would have liked it here, without the weird animals, of course.
He pulled the engraved pebble from his pockets and saw the faceless figures of his former fellowship. There were seven. Seven people who embarked on an impossible mission which never saw the slightest light of success. Only suffering. He whispered their names, assuring himself that these names and memories were true. They were Elias, Haloxylon, Beestraat, Kamalia, Fraxinus, and Lumenum.
Since Arnitikós's clinging, he felt a peaceful warmth, one that invoked lightheadedness and physical comfort; if he didn't flinch or change his position, he could lay like this forever.
He continued hearkening. Were they my friends? Or brethren in pain? Beast was definitely a friend, and so was Elias. Elias, in a way, overshadowed Beast — did he forgive me for attending to Elias more than him? I hope so. Haloxylon was too much to handle; I wish he had a firm grip on himself; I did not mean to strip him of all his ice-hunting will. He was a mess. Nobody liked Fraxinus-Ash. Everyone hated him except for Lumenum. Lumenum was senile. Dangerously intelligent but very senile. Kamalia — oh Kamalia! The warm, faint flame that kept us together through Annular horror. Elias would not have saved me from mental degradation if it wasn't for her. He gazed at the snoring Forson and thought, she, too, might be a catalyst that is keeping me sane. Does she deserve to be alive, well, and breathing? He pictured himself the previous times when she attempted to strangle her life away. And now, she is seeking safety within his presence. How, he thought grievingly, how would the entire history of the world think of me? Me protecting and saving this being, this Forson, this. . . evil and. . . vile creature that used to haunt all of us through our lives and throughout our journey. The bane of our history. . .
And when Wolfheze passed out, the bee flinched with his eyes wide open. He was next — or rather, in front of Bét'Shīr's grunting head. Snoring. The bee in the tiny box.