Rembrandt rembrandt nightwatch painting

Rembrandt rembrandt nightwatch paintingRaphael The Sistine MadonnaWilliam Bouguereau BiblisWilliam Bouguereau Nymphs and Satyr.
creature called the Swarm, in the same way that individual bees are component cells of the hivemind. Granny didn't mingle her thoughts with the bees very often, partly because insect minds were strange, alien things that tasted of tin, but mostly because she suspected that the Swarm was a good deal more intelligent than she was.
She knew that the drones would soon reach the wild bee colonies in the deep forest, and within hours every corner of the mountain meadows would be under very close scrutiny indeed. All she could do was wait.
At noon she snapped. "It's just that I haven't got the time to mess around. You must know where she is. I command you to take me to her!"
The staff regarded her woodenly.
"By -" Granny paused, her invocations were a little rusty, "- by stock and stone I order it!"
Activity, movement, liveliness - all these words would be completely inaccurate descriptions the drones returned, and Granny read in the sharp acid thoughts of the hivemind that there was no sign of Esk. She went back into the cool of the cottage and sat down in the rocking chair, staring at the doorway. She knew what the next step was. She hated the very idea of it. But she fetched a short ladder, climbed up creakily on to the roof, and pulled the staff from its hiding place in the thatch. It was icy cold. It steamed. "Above the snowline, then," said Granny. She climbed down, and rammed the staff into a flowerbed. She glared at it. She had a nasty feeling that it was glaring back. "Don't think you've won, because you haven't,"