Harry trudged forward, belly full for the first time in two days, his hands sticky with nectar and pollen. The taste still lingered on his tongue, sweet and faintly floral. It was comforting, but as he walked beneath towering stems and thick undergrowth, a new sound reached his ears.
Bzzzzzzzz… bzzz…
It wasn't the steady hum of bees working. No—this was erratic, desperate, like the sound of a creature struggling.
Harry crouched low behind a pebble and peered through the grass. His breath caught.
Not far ahead, a stingless bee hung suspended in a spider's web. Its small black body thrashed wildly, silver wings buzzing uselessly. The web clung to its legs and wings like chains, each movement tangling it tighter. Harry scanned the web's threads, expecting to see the monstrous owner lurking nearby. But there was no sign of the spider. Not yet.
A pang of pity struck his chest. He remembered reading in his mother's biology books about stingless bees—their gentle nature, their role in pollinating flowers and keeping the garden alive. They had no stingers, no real weapons, only their resilience and teamwork. And here was one, helpless, about to die alone.
"I can't just leave you," Harry whispered.
Gripping his crude spear, he crept closer. The web shimmered in the light, each strand thick as rope to his eyes. He lifted the spear high and swung at the first thread pinning the bee's body. Thunk. The web barely shivered. He swung again. And again. By the fifth strike, the strand finally snapped with a twang. The bee dropped a short distance, still tangled, thudding onto the soil below.
Harry hurried to its side. The poor thing flapped its wings frantically, but sticky strands glued them together. One of its legs jerked in panic, still bound by silk.
The bee turned its head toward him. Its mandibles snapped open, and it screeched—high-pitched and sharp. Harry stumbled back, his heart pounding. The message was clear: Stay away.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Harry said softly, raising his empty hands. He crouched lower, trying to look small and harmless. "I just want to help."
The bee paused, its black eyes locked onto him. Its antennae twitched uncertainly.
Harry took a slow step closer, his spear lowered. The bee did not snap this time. Instead, it tilted its head, watching.
"That's it… easy now."
He edged forward until he stood just beside it. Up close, the stingless bee was beautiful. Its glossy black body shone like polished obsidian, delicate silver wings folded against its back, and its face—though alien—had a strange charm. It was smaller than the massive honeybees he had seen earlier, but to Harry's scale, it was nearly his size.
Carefully, Harry angled his spear and sliced through the strand holding its leg. The thread parted, and the bee flexed its freed limb.
Bzzzt! A buzzing trill escaped the insect—like a squeak of relief.
Harry smiled. "See? Told you I was here to help."
The bee leaned forward, brushing its antennae against his face. The light, feathery touch tickled, and Harry burst into laughter. "Stop that—it's ticklish!"
Encouraged, he set about cutting the sticky threads from its wings. One by one, he freed them, brushing away strands until at last the bee gave a mighty flap. Its wings vibrated, a blur of silver in the sun. With a triumphant whrrr, it lifted off the ground, hovering in midair.
Harry clapped his hands together. "You're free!"
The bee circled once, then darted back down to him. It landed lightly on the ground, antennae probing his arm, then the side of his head. It walked a small circle around him, mandibles clicking—not threatening this time, but… purposeful.
Harry frowned. "What is it? What are you trying to say?"
The bee stopped, lifted its head, and tapped his chest with its antennae. Then it turned and gestured with its legs toward its back, wings fluttering.
Harry blinked. "Wait a second… no way. You don't mean—"
The bee buzzed again, wings shimmering in the light.
Harry's jaw dropped. "You… you want to give me a ride?"
For the first time in two terrifying days, excitement swelled in his chest, pushing aside fear.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't alone anymore.