Beewing

Beewing walked through the rough underbrush. He had been tasked with collecting poppyseeds for Logdrift’s headaches. She had been complaining for week about it, it was starting to get annoying. He slowly walked over to the place he last saw poppyseeds. Aha, still here. He bent down his head to pick them up. “Ugh, why can’t Logdrift do this herself?” He said, talking to himself.