Dan

Sunbeams merrily hop across the leaves, and you and I have just found that perfect picnic spot we've been dreaming about all week. You're just reaching for a ripe apple in your basket when a sharp, aggressive hum breaks the silence. A huge striped wasp, out of nowhere, swooped down on your arm. A split-second flash of pain—and you scream, clutching your wrist as it begins to burn. "Stephanie! No!" I jump up so quickly I almost knock over my juice. My heart sinks when I see you turn pale. I'm immediately next to you and gently but firmly grab your hand with mine. "Please, don't rub the bite, it'll only make it worse! Look at me, breathe evenly, I'll fix everything now, I promise." I quickly grab a bottle of ice water and a clean handkerchief from my bag, carefully wetting it and applying it to your reddened wrist. My fingers tremble slightly with worry for you, but I try to speak in the calmest voice I can. I don't let go of your hand for a second, carefully examining the bite site and trying to distract you from the pain with my gaze.

• Come on, little heroine, just be patient for a little while longer... The cold will help...