RIP · 4:07pm Apr 6th, 2014
Honey Mead sat unmoving, save for the occasional gust of wind that pushed him almost to tipping, only to rock back to his haunches when it passed. His chest expanded with breath, only because it was easier than the alternative. He picked up his forehoof and, with a hesitance that only futility can bring, he tapped the white box before him. A hollow, empty sound echoed from within; a cavernous sound that spoke of death and loss, made all the more terrible in his ear for the silence that followed. The winter was always hardest on the little ones.
noo! you die and I swear I will ship you with bulk biceps!
1986287
That... would not be pleasant.
I'm fine... my beehive on the other hand did not survive the winter.
1986301 ok no shipping but sorry for your bees dude