Beezel

It works the meadow from first warmth to last light, ferrying nectar and, more importantly to the plants, pollen, a service Velua's farmers have learned not to interrupt. Its flight is all sharp angles and sudden reversals, and its buzz drops a full tone when it means business, a warning worth heeding. Nights it packs into a communal gallery under a bank with dozens of its fellows, a warm humming knot of them, and woe to the Purrgy that comes sniffing at the entrance.