But the olfactory loop held Flora’s attention: the hive, the sun, the honey—then without warning came a blast of wild, cold air and choking smoke. Flora staggered. Her body was in the room, but her senses flooded with the panic of ten thousand sisters roaring their engines, the dazing sun, and the overpowering smell of honey. “That story is called The Visitation.” The voice was sweet and thrilling, and the hand that touched Flora took away her fear. “It tells of robbery and terror, and the survival of our people.”
