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Summary
Tommy stopped at this. Looking at his brothers red eyes with an unamused frown. “I do not need a helmet for running.”
Before he could say another word, a helmet was plopped on his head.
…
“I hate this.” The six-year-old crossed his arms and just gave in, knowing all too well Wilbur was just sick. And his obscured logic would go away as soon as his fever went down.
Tommy starts to run towards the small barn house before Wilbur shouts something at him.
“Okay just— run slowly!”
He stops in his tracks. Turning around to Wilbur and shouting back, “THAT DEFEATS THE WHOLE PURPOSE OF RUNNING!”