“I have heard it,” said Speaksall. “They got the idea from the humming of the bees, but their sounds have become more complex and more beautiful.”

“I have heard it too,” Egdod admitted, “and I crave hearing more.”

“That is curious,” said Greyhame, “but I do not understand its connection to the matter I was only just speaking of.”

“The connection is clear enough in my mind,” said Ward, “though perhaps it is only because I am now feeling a thing that is akin to pain, though not as disagreeable. I believe it is called hunger. I hunger for food and drink. It is not because I need to make a hive out of stuff exuded from my body. Nor is it because I am attempting to spawn more copies of myself. I want it for the same reason that Egdod craves the hearing of certain sounds: simply because to have it would give me pleasure.”

“Your explanation is satisfactory,” said Greyhame, “but it is neither here nor there, as food is entirely lacking. And for my own part I have no idea as to where it might be obtained.”

“I could attempt to make some,” said Thingor, “but I know not the form of it, and imagining what it would be like to eat a thing made of iron gives me no foretaste of pleasure.”

“I have a thought on the matter,” announced Freewander, “easier to show than to explain.”

“Shall we join our auras then?” said Ward.

“No,” said Freewander, “I had in mind that you would instead accompany me to a certain place that I know of in the Garden.” And she rose from her chair and took wing in the same quick movement. The other souls, less nimble, followed her afoot. Outside it was nearly dark, but some light from the sun still shone flat into the Garden through gaps in the surrounding hedge.