They moved—almost dazed—toward the leftmost table where etched bronze cages housed humming crystals. Each pulse matched the glow inside the emerald leaf, though subtler.
"Resonance array," he explained. "I tune these to pick up ant reports. Converts chitter into chime."
He flipped a dial. Soft bell tones drifted out—delicate, like glass rain. Serelith's lips parted in delight. She closed her eyes, listening. "It's beautiful. What is that message?"
"'Forage line found sweet sap to the west. Worker troop requesting larger jars.' " He grinned, then nudged the volume. "They get poetic sometimes. One described sunrise as 'sky honey.'"
Serelith opened her eyes, humor dancing there. "I'm starting to envy your ants."
He picked up a thin silver band, set it gently over her ear. "Here. Translator rune." The band buzzed; her pupils grew huge as new sounds filled her head—tiny fiddles, soft trills.
She gasped. "They're singing."
