A Clover and a Bee

Sheba has been very lethargic recently, worryingly so. She sleeps constantly, and moving seems to strain her. Quentin--her de facto caretaker, despite Sheba’s obvious preference for Lark--has started to grapple with the idea she might need to be put down soon. Thus, he isn’t surprised when one night, Sheba begins to moan and pant. This is it , he thinks grimly, I guess I should call the vet.  

Everyone stares at Lark, waiting for her to speak. It’s the most powerful she has ever felt. She could draw this out for as long as she wants. But she won’t. She opens her mouth to speak: “Her name is--” “Wait,” Dom says quickly, “Don’t tell us. Not until we’re ready to go.”

Lark rolls the apple around in her hand, examining it from every angle. She looks up from it skeptically. “How is this supposed to prove that you’re a mage?”

It’s the evening before Leisure Day, and Lark is free from school for the next three days. She leaves Nature and Nurture Learning Academy with a backpack full of homework, all of which she intends to ignore. Long weekends--especially ones that include a day specifically devoted to leisure--are for play, not work. She happily rides her bike through the town square, mentally planning the weekend’s activities as she pedals.

"I can't believe this is happening," Luna smiles weakly at her husband, "it seems like they were babies just yesterday." "I know," Quentin agrees, "time makes fools of us all." It's finally time for the twins to age up to teens. Luke and Lydia are thrilled, but Luna can't bring herself to accept that her children are so close to leaving the house. Just four years of high school, and then they'll be off to start their lives. Luna snuggles into Quentin’s arms as she tries to acclimate to the thought of being one step closer to an empty nest.

It’s an early weekday morning, and the Bees are awake and buzzing around the house: the children are getting ready for school, Luna is quickly making a somewhat healthy breakfast, and Quentin is on a conference call with the director of an upcoming film for which he composed the score. Lark is the last child to get to use the bathroom, the privilege of being the youngest and easiest to push around. She’s been dancing cross-legged all morning, waiting for one of her older siblings to take mercy on her. The relief at finally being able to use the facilities is unquantifiable. But when she flushes the toilet, it begins to overflow. "Poop," she mutters to herself. This is the fourth time this week this has happened to her.

“I don’t understand why you brought that filthy dog into our house,” Human Female wrinkles her nose at Human Male. “‘That dog’ has a name, and it’s Sheba,” Human Male runs his hands through Sheba’s fur, “and I adopted her because homes with dogs are statistically safer from break ins.” “I don’t think a dog could have stopped,” she stops mid-sentence and yawns loudly before continuing, “Mercury from waltzing into Lark’s room.” Human Female’s eyes are bloodshot, and there are bags under them. Every movement seems to demand a great amount of her energy. “I’m going to train her to guard Lark,” Human Male says, “and she’s a good guard dog. Aren’t you, Sheba? Aren’t you the best guard dog?”