It is so small, a bee, so very small. It should not die because the land is drying up; a bee should not die. It is like a sick child, a mother who no longer recognizes her son, these things should not exist. Anir is ten years old. He loves the eagles that trace wide circles near the clouds and the stories his grandfather tells him, especially those about the oldest beehive in the world. Under the crushing heat of southern Morocco, the boy learns to care for bees and to love this red, arid land, growing ever more silent. He does not yet know that behind the legends of his village and his mother’s haunting lullaby lies a heavy family secret.