“Hey Pickle! You off on your daily run? It’s a little early. ”

Pickle in a dead sprint nodded no. He threw Hickory a package without breaking stride and continued on. Hickory with a puzzled expression on his face opened the package and quickly closed it. He burst out in a wide grin and started laughing.

Then the storm approached. The crackling anger was practically palpable. The steam and hiss of the storm steamed across the cement. The lightning striking across the pavement crackling and hissing as it spewed sparks.

Hickory smirked and leisurely continued rocking in his precious wood carved rocking chair on his front porch. The storm wasn’t his problem. He wasn’t in his raincoat or rain boots but he didn’t need them. The storm was going to pass him by and wouldn’t be any the wiser.

Pickle glanced back in terror, the scariness approaching quickly. He hated thunderstorms they were the most terrifying thing a being could witness. He tripped over a root in his haste to get to get away from the dreaded hurricane… his mother.

So, Pickle sprinted for all he was worth. He just needed to get far enough from Hickory that world war III wouldn’t ensue. He chuckled to himself Hickory definitely opened that bag. When he did he couldn’t miss out was the precious loot it contained…