Fear and Secrets on a Riverbank

Secrets are funny things, I well knew. Once brought to the light of day, there is no returning them to the quiet shadows from whence they came. Such things ought not to be taken lightly. A woman who takes secrets lightly is a gossip. A man who does so is a cad.

So it was with no small trepidation that I queried the black and yellow insect, “Is it a secret I should know?” Her buzzing laugh sent shivers up my arm and rouged my face with embarrassment. Such a thing, to be embarrassed by a bee!

“It is no wonder your kind are so blind to magic of this world,” she teased. I say ‘she’, as that is how it sounded, though to be frank I could no more have guessed it gender than I could explain its sudden ability to communicate with me in plain English. “Do you fear secrets?” she asked with honey sweetness, fittingly.

I considered my float and declared, “I wouldn’t call it fear…exactly.”

“What if,” she began with a mischievous air, “I told it could bring you great benefit?”

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