Picnic Panic
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The sun-dappled meadow hummed with the gentle chatter of grandmothers unpacking flaky pastries and jars of honeyed tea, their laughter mingling with the clink of porcelain and the rustle of checkered blankets—until the undergrowth snapped. A hulking shadow lurched into the clearing, all matted fur and low, rumbling hunger. The bear’s muzzle twitched, nostrils flaring at the scent of freshly baked blackberry pie, its claws gouging the earth as it lumbered toward the spread. Crystalized calm shattered into gasps and scattered chairs; wicker baskets spilled preserves, quilts tangled under stomping paws, and a single strawberry tart rolled precariously toward the treeline. The beast paid no mind to the fleeing elders, its amber gaze locked on the pillaged feast, a guttural growl reverberating through the once-peaceful afternoon.
