Hyssop
Legacy Name: Hyssop

New Bonds Formed

There were once many of his kind, but now they are few and scattered. Not even he knows where to find another like himself.

Humans eroded their habitat, destroyed their homes. The majority were unable to adapt, unable to find new ways to survive.

He was almost among them, those who didn't make it.

Wandering from his once-home, alone, he felt ready to give up.

Until the day, tired from hunger and about to lay down for his last time, he collapsed in a field of flowers. Here, bees were busily humming as they worked. He watched bees flit from flower to flower. A dance of sorts. Full of life, full of energy. For what?

He summoned the remains of his energy and stumbled along, following the bees to their hive, built into the lower portion of a tree. There was a substance there. Sweet-smelling, golden, beautiful. He touched it, tasted it. He could tell the bees were not happy with this decision. They swarmed him angrily, trying to sting him, but were unable to pierce his thick skin. He retreated back, sorry to have upset these beautiful creatures. The taste of the honey lingered on his lips, bringing him renewed energy.

In the days that followed, he continued to watch the bees from a distance. As he did so, he began to understand them. He gained energy from their energy, but could also sense something else: an underlying sorrow. He could sense that they too were struggling to survive in a world ever-more shaped by human hands.

The bees took notice of him as well. Emanating from him was a strong sense of anguish and loss, but also something kind and geniune. They never slowed their work pace, but still studied him closely as they came and went. With some distance and no longer blinded by rage at a hive intruder, they were better able to observe his skeleton-like figure and the sad way he would nibble at grass and flowers, only to become sick by them later. Finally, they could no longer bear witness to his suffering. The hive of bees circled around him, and he raised his head in bewilderment. The bees began to move, forming a clear path back towards their hive. He followed, slowly, carefully. The bees landed here and there around the tree, but not on their hive. A clear message, an invitation. Cautiously, he once again tasted the sweet honey. He waited. There was no angry swarm. He took several more mouthfuls and lay down, happy. It did not take much of this rich substance to make him feel full and whole again. The bees went back to their busy work, and he slept at the foot of the tree, the most peaceful he had felt since leaving his once-home.

Days and weeks passed. He learned to tend to the flowers, to plant new flowers. He learned which flowers the bees liked best. The bees continued to provide him with honey. As the beings became more comfortable with one another, the bees began to use the holes in his body to create new mini-hives. At first they worked cautiously, but, seeing his own indifference to the matter, quickly began to work on it in earnest. He was soon a living home for the bees.

One day loud noises rang out across the field, metallic and menacing. The humans had found their little corner of the Earth.

He was ready this time. He knew they could not stay. He began to gather seedlings and seeds from all of the flower favorites.

This is how it went, and how it continues to go today. Each time human destruction moves toward them, the beings set off to find another untouched pasture. He plants new flowers, forms a new lush field. The bees work happily, knowing their home will always be with them. All is well until the next human sighting.

He doesn't talk, this rare creature. Or perhaps he does, but no one can hear his words. Still, the bees understand. They understand his battle for survival, they feel his empathy, they sense his need for purpose. Within the hive, they have named him. They have named him for the flower that bears his coloring, the flower that he most enjoys to plant, the flower that produces honey ever-so-sweet: Hyssop.