Beezay Bee

Sunder was on his way back to the beach he'd called home for the last season. It wasn't out of love for the cove that he was staying there. In this land - he'd learned recently that it was a giant island called Boreas - it was the only thing familiar to him and he was wary of venturing too far from what he knew to be safe. The beach reminded him of home. There was a certain security in that. He knew the sound of the waves by heart and was comforted by the horizon. It was looking inland that was distressing. Weeks prior, after he'd regained his strength, he'd climbed the tallest cliff he could find in the hopes of being able to see the other side of the island. There had been nothing but land as far as the eye could see and he was still having a hard time wrapping his head around it.

This recent trip inland he'd been rewarded with a discovery. A beehive, just like the ones back home. Honey was a very useful thing. When the cuts on his legs had been made the cutters had coated the wounds in honey to aid in the healing process. Back home it was also frequently used as a conditioner - one that, no matter if it was used on skin or hair, was washed away after a certain period otherwise the wearer would drip on and stick to everything they came into contact with. It was also edible although he didn't much care for the taste. Sunder had heard more than once to use caution when eating it as too high a consumption could pack on the pounds. Normally a bad thing, but he was still a tad on the thin side so he was willing to swallow - pun intended - his dislike of the stuff and commit to eating it when he could.

There was no way he was going to approach the hive with bare skin. That was just asking for trouble. It was for that reason he was beating feet back to the beach and the cache of items he'd collected over the last season. Surely he had something in there that would protect him.

Reaching the cache Sunder dove headfirst into it. He kicked unneeded items out of the way. Driftwood, seashells, bits of metal and sea glass; it all landed in the sand behind him as he searched for something to cover his skin. He paused when he came across a weathered piece of plastic. It may have once been a tarp but years buried in the sand and reduced it to a thin, flimsy paper. It was marred with holes but he scooped it up onto his head anyway and stood still for several seconds as he tried to decide whether or not it was a worthy accessory.

He pitched it onto the sand and went back to digging. Out came more bits of metal, the mangled remains of plastic bottles and soda can webbing, and then, behold. Sunder drug out the mass of seaweed. He sat down hard and stared at it with a scrutinous eye. That was not good protection gear. But maybe if he draped it over the hive and quickly drug the hive to...a hole maybe? Yeah he could do that. Drug it to a hole and buried it quickly perhaps he could get away with minimal stings. And then the bees would suffocate and he could get all the honey. Easy, right?

Sunder found another clump of seaweed (kelp? he'd never bothered to learn the difference) and paired that with the small sheet of plastic he had. One clump of water weeds went onto his head and the plastic was draped over his neck. He held the second clump in his mouth and then ran back to the Gulley where the hive was located. There he swiftly dug a deep hole taking care to eyeball the hive to get the width just right. He wanted it to fit in there with a little room to spare just in case in his haste he dropped it in at an angle, but he didn't want to make it so wide he wasted time filling the sides in. Sunder wanted the hive buried quickly. Every second it wasn't was a second he wasn't running from whatever bees got out and sought vengeance.

He dug until he was up to his shoulders in earth and then hauled himself out of the hole. The naked dog flopped down beside it, his tongue lolling, and rolled a critical eye over his handy work. The depth was likely overkill. He debated filling it in for a moment but opted to leave it. Maybe if they were confused and battling sand it would take the bees longer to get out of a deep hole? Who knew. He was just going to go for it.

Next was the retrieving. Sunder donned his weed hat again and cautiously approached the hive. The mammoth nest hung from the lowest crook of a nearby oak tree. At one time it appeared to have been situated in the cavity over the crook, but over the years the bees had expanded and been forced to build out and down. Now lobes of combs hung down from the tree limb like a waxy beard. They were fixed on one side to the trunk of the tree but were unattached on the opposite side. If he stood up on his hind legs he could probably grab one of the lobes.

Standing under the hive he could hear the bees buzzing. And it gave him second thoughts. But he wanted that honey so after a moment spent steeling his nerves Sunder lunged for the hive. He grabbed the lowest hanging lobe and when it didn't break immediately he crushed it. Once all four paws were on the ground he took off at an all out run for the hole. The lobe left his jaws before he was even all the way to the hole. It hit the rim and then slid in just as he skidded up to the side and began to frantically shovel dirt in. It was then the first stings started to register. His head, his neck, his back. One, two, five. He stopped counting quickly.

He gave up filling the hole and settled on getting it most of the way full. A couple frantic stomps to pat the dirt down and then he was off like a shot; headed for the beach and the water he hoped to lose the bees in.