They couldn't do that. How could he know what they were thinking? He couldn't ever tell what people were thinking. He knew that for certain. Couldn't ever!
He laughed a little to himself, very quietly. People always thought it was only people that counted.
And then came the little voice in his mind, very thin and very shrill.
“When-When-When-?”
Roland turned his head. He knew it was a bee winging toward him. He wasn't hearing the bee, but the whole mind of the whole hive.
All his life he had heard the bees thinking, and they could hear him. It was wonderful. They pollinated his plants and they avoided eating them, so that everything he touched grew beautifully.
The only thing was they wanted more. They wanted a leader; someone to tell them how to beat back the push of humanity. Roland wondered how that could be done. The bees weren't enough but suppose he had all the animals. Suppose he learned how to blend minds with all of them. Could he?
The bees were easy, and the ants. Their minds built up in large crowds. And he could hear the crows now. He didn't used to. And he was beginning to make out something with the cattle, though they weren't worth listening to, hardly.
Cats? Dogs? All the bugs and birds?
What could be done? How far could he go?
A teacher had once said to him that he didn't live up to his potential.
“When-When-When-?” thought the bee.
“Not yet-Not yet-Not yet-” thought Roland.
First, he had to reach his potential.