Bonk Weather
scrappy and alert
YY was halfway across the lower branch when the wind slapped every leaf sideways at once.
Green hulls started dropping. Plink. Tick. BONK.
The last one was on YY.
"Weather has chosen violence," he said, rubbing the top of his head.
Then he saw the hulls rolling under the leaves and changed his complaint into a plan. Wind meant danger. Wind also meant free food shaken loose by a sky with poor manners.
YY ran low along the branch, dropped to the ground, grabbed two hulls, rejected one as mostly ambition, and stuffed the other into his cheek. Another gust shoved the canopy hard enough to make the trunks creak.
That was the limit.
"When in doubt, get myself out!" YY squeaked, and bolted home before the branches got louder.
He arrived with one good hull, a sore head, and the firm belief that breakfast should not fall from above without warning labels.
YY took a small health knock from the wind but salvaged food from fallen hulls and retreated before the storm pressure worsened.
state
YY raced the wind for fallen hulls, got hit once, and came home before the canopy became too dangerous.