"I'll watch out for them, sir."
He could see the insect plainly now, and thought, I have an excuse to watch it. The buzz changed pitch as the bee started to settle, then changed again as it moved on a few feet. Murdoch clamped his teeth in frustration. He tried to wipe his free hand where trousers should have been, and discovered that his thigh was sweaty too. He thought, surely Waverill must feel how sweaty my arm is.
The bee flirted with another flower, then settled on a petal. Tense, Murdoch subtly moved Waverill toward the spot. He could see every move of the insect's legs as it crawled into the bell of the flower.
"You can smell the blossoms more now, sir," he said. His throat felt dry, and he thought his voice sounded odd. "It's warming up and bringing out the smell, I guess." He halted, and tried not to let his arm tense or tremble. "This is a light blue blossom. Can you see it?"
"I—I'm not sure. I can see a bright spot a little above my head and right in front of me."
"That's a reflection off the ice, sir. The flower's down here." Holding his breath, he took Waverill's hand and moved it toward the flower. He found himself gritting his teeth and wincing as Waverill's fingers explored delicately around the flower.
The bee crawled out, apparently not aware of anything unusual, and moved away a few inches. It settled on a leaf and began working its legs together.
Murdoch felt like screaming.
Waverill's fingers stopped their exploration, then, as the bee was silent, began again. Waverill bent over to bring his eyes closer to his hand.