“I really think we should get back to the hive,” one suggested.
“What do you think we are trying to do?” grumbled another.
“I don’t know,” mused a third, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the gnawing that filled their prison, “this is not a bad tasting wax.”
“I don’t think this is wax at all,” complained the first voice. “It tastes of things long dead.”
“How could you say such a thing?” gasped the third. “We are not,” and its voice dropped in disgust, “carrion worms.”
“Of course not,” snapped a voice. “We are the precious daughters of the wandering queen. We eat only the finest golden produce of our mother’s slaves.”
“Well we have to eat it anyway,” said the third voice a bit sullenly. “So we might as well enjoy it is all that I am saying.”
“Enjoy it or not,” spoke up a new voice.
Then the prison shuddered and a great shadow fell over them.
“Eat quickly my sisters,” the new voice pressed them. “Eat quickly.”
If it exists SOMETHING will eat it.