𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐒

4. In Which Lydia Enters the Hive

Lydia was up early, before the sunrise, sliding her shoes on and shimmying out the window. There was a sturdy trellis right below, that burst with thick roses and heavy leaves. Carefully, to not crush any of the blooms, Lydia picked her way down, and landed in the garden with a thump. She froze, glancing into the kitchen window. Empty. Relaxed, she adjusted her bag, peeking inside to make sure the hatbox wasn't crushed.

Then she was making her way over the fence, through the brambles, and into the forest, gone without a second glance.

It was peaceful, birds singing in the early morning. Everything was damp and clean, refreshed by last night's rain. Lydia had woken up sore and cold, her bottom slightly wet from sitting under the leaky wooden frame of her window, but it was worth it to open her eyes and see the bright blue morning sky.

Armoured in a long blue skirt, high socks, and a brown tank top, Lydia made her way through the woods, her bag bouncing against her thigh as she walked.

She had been bad at directions her whole life. When she lived in the city, she would get lost at every corner, turned around and dizzy. North was indistinguishable from South, and she struggled to grasp the concept of West and East. She remembered having a meltdown, panicking, trying to find a bus station that had been five feet away.

But somehow, even though every tree looked like the next, and every leaf fluttered with a dizzying distraction, she found herself exactly where she had wished to go. Somehow, nature's traffic was much easier to understand, its chaotic crush easily known to Lydia.

Without much pomp, she was back. The large tree, the ancient being, creaked and whispered at her, welcoming her. The rushes gave voice to the wind, both of them shuffling in pleasure at her arrival. She reached up and patted the tree, then glanced around. Perhaps it was too early for Beckett to be out. No matter, she had packed a book in her bag, and the tree limbs were wide and gentle.

Lydia settled into the treetop, book clutched between her fingers, the world around her dimming as she tumbled into the pages of her book, lost in a world of castles and duelling knights. Timelessly, everything around her looked the same, unchanging but for the sun inching slowly across the sky.

When it reached its afternoon peak, a crash startled her out of her reverie, and she bolted up, gaze darting about warily. Beckett was too sensible to be thrashing through the forest like this.

Another crash, and bushes rustled, then out tumbled a boy. His hood was pulled over his head, hiding the flashes of his deep brown skin, wires snaking from beneath his collar, his hands jammed deep into his pockets. He righted his balance, turning and swearing at the bush that tripped him.

Lydia cocked her head. She folded her book, putting it into her bag, peering at the loud, clumsy boy intruding on her forests.

Unaware of her presence and judgement, the boy tripped over roots and rocks to throw himself at the trunk of the tree, sliding down and sitting rather angrily. Lydia lay directly above him, sprawled on her tree limb, and was close enough to hear the music blasting from his headphones.

Lydia flipped backwards, her torso hanging off the tree limb, black hair falling around her. Her skirt fluttered around her hips, revealing navy biker shorts. She swung into his sights, beaming toothily upside-down, her moon-shaped cheeks lifting in both grin and gravity. The boy yelped, leaping away, eyes wide.

"What the hell?" he flinched, as if to fight.

Lydia waved, face slowly turning cherry red. "Hello!"

"Who—" the boy gawked at her. She got the sense he wasn't often surprised like this, and she enjoyed it. Life was full of the unexpected, and Lydia loved to live.