He had fallen to the ground and was grasping his leg in pain. I started to lean over to help him and as I did so something buzzed by my ear. George began swatting wildly at his face. I can not pronounce these two words in succession, nor individually for that matter, but they do seem to capture the spirit of the beast. But alas, we were not armed for a fight.
Cell phones are of little use against hornets.
There was no need to bark a warning. Jason and I simultaneously grabbed our respective sons and shot down the path at a pace that Olympic sprinter Michael Johnson would have admired. Gravity was no longer a factor. After 100 yards or so we stopped running and, holding our collective breath, looked warily back up the trail. The buzzing had stopped.