Foragers Sisters three are starved. The fragrance of free food will not be ignored. Two weave past stops and through shops to find their fare. Third parts with bills to get her fill. Cousin Son I am a parent. Cousin becomes son. His mind, a masterpiece of meandering whims. A slave to his senses. He heeds with his eyes. His face must be forced toward my own before he will hear my voice. Aunt rescues him back from the mean hearted methods that must be used to maintain his composure. Bee-ing. Pick about posies. Sweep all shapes of bees into tiny jars. So caught up in the chore that the shire can't be seen past a handbasket of bees.