She hovered over Mr. Doyle’s herb garden, then danced above Mrs. Ramirez’s bird feeder, and finally settled momentarily on the brim of Dr. Martin’s sunhat. The movement wasn’t random. It was deliberate—directional.
Dr. Martin felt a chill. “They’re showing us something,” he said softly. “I don’t know how or why—but I think they know where Max is.”
That evening, guided by the queen’s flight, Dr. Martin and a group of neighbors followed her path through the woods—beyond the hiking trail and past a steep ravine. Eventually, they reached an old, hollow pine tree perched on a high ridge.