In the quiet eastern corner of the staging shed, Imran Bell was conducting the final check of the lantern beetle colony box that was to remain behind in Lowbank. The oblong wooden chest, crafted from seasoned sweet chestnut by Eren Tal, had punched holes in zinc air-flow panels set into all four sides. He allowed a gentle draft of cool autumn air to circulate through the inside without chilling the occupants.
Imran held a small brass aspirator tube in his right hand, gently transferring three amber-shelled worker beetles from a temporary glass bell jar into a small, velvet-lined brass sample tin. Along the brass rims of the sample case, a fine tracing of green copper green rust showed where the damp river air had begun to react with the alloy. His movements were slow, rhythmic, and infinitely patient. The unrushed care of a man who understood that rough handling crushed more insect lives than cold weather ever did.
Young Tavi stood beside him on an upturned nail keg. He watched every flick of Imran’s fingers with rapt, wide-eyed concentration. The boy held a clay pot dish containing fresh river clover that he had picked from the sheltered banks of the Upper Reach an hour earlier, each leaf washed clean of river silt and dried with a soft linen cloth.
