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In the breezy daytime park, Billy Bob stands on a grassy hill clutching a snapped kite string, frowning, while Friend waves encouragingly beside him; the broken red-and-yellow kite flutters near their feet under swaying trees.
Wind swished the park; their kite climbed high. Billy Bob tugged too hard—snap!—oh my. Friend waved, "Ready to fly?" "I broke it," he sighed, "but with your help, we’ll try."
On the sunlit picnic table in the same park, Friend kneels applying silver tape and two thin sticks to the torn kite, smiling focused, while Billy Bob sits opposite holding spare tape and watching gratefully; leaves rustle softly around them.
Friend smiled, "Thanks for telling the truth, that’s true." She knelt with tape and sticks: "Let’s mend it—me and you." Billy Bob nodded, grateful too. Together they patched the spar, good as new.
Under the clear afternoon sky in the park meadow, Billy Bob strides mid-step, grinning, both hands on the kite reel, while Friend laughs a few steps behind, pointing at their fully repaired kite soaring high above white clouds.
They ran; the patched kite climbed sky, high. It swooped and soared, better than before. Friend laughed, "Our fix made it glide more!" Billy Bob grinned, "Truth makes my courage soar."
At sunset on the breezy hilltop, Billy Bob and Friend stand side by side, smiling up at the distant kite drifting against an orange sky; their clasped hands rest over their hearts, tall grass bending around their ankles.
Friend said, "Next time, tell me quick, not sly." Billy Bob nodded, "Honesty helps us fix—and fly." They bowed to breeze, partners side by side. Together they cheered, "Truth first!" and watched kite ride.
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