Picnic Panic
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Description
The afternoon sun draped the meadow in golden warmth as laughter and clinking teacups filled the air—Granny Mae’s annual picnic was in full swing. Floral quilts sprawled across the grass held towers of jam sandwiches, still-steaming pies, and a precarious jug of lemonade. Edna had just launched into her infamous tale about the rogue garden gnome when a twig snapped like a gunshot. All chatter died. Between the oaks, a hulking shadow swayed, nostrils flaring at the scent of blackberry cobbler. The bear’s low growl rumbled through the clearing as it lumbered forward, eyes locked on the dessert table. Mae brandished her knitting needles like swords, Mabel lobbed a deviled egg with shocking precision, and three others hoisted the lemonade jug as a makeshift barrier—because if there was one thing these grannies knew, it was that no beast, no matter how famished, ruined their picnic without a fight.
