Percy's Fluffy Solution to Wind-Based Shame
Percy the Pterodactyl was a dinosaur of many contradictions. He loved soaring, yet he possessed the aerodynamic stability of a damp newspaper. When the wind dared to blow harder than a gentle sigh, Percy didn't glide; he pinwheeled. His contemporaries, sleek and effortlessly efficient, referred to him as "The Aerial Accident" behind his back.
"Flap with the resistance, Percy!" yelled Terrance, a highly-accredited flight instructor with the temperament of granite, as Percy tumbled past.
"I am!" Percy shrieked, landing spectacularly (and painfully) in a bed of unusually springy, pale green moss.
As Percy dusted the moss off his magnificent but bruised crest, inspiration struck. This moss wasn't just springy—it was durable. What if he could braid, twist, or somehow weave this material into something solid? Something soft enough to sit on, but strong enough to weather a gale?
The next week was spent on the ground, much to Terrance's silent relief. Percy had adopted a new, intensely non-predatory hobby: knitting. He used his sharp, powerful beak with painstaking delicacy, turning fluffy moss into thick, rough yarn. His talons, usually reserved for snaring fish, were now employed to anchor his work.
His first attempt, a tiny, lopsided disc, was a spectacular failure. It absorbed water like a sponge and dropped him straight into a shallow mud pit. His second looked suspiciously like a giant, fuzzy sock.
"What in the Mesozoic is that?" squawked Petra, gliding low for a look.
Percy ignored her, driven by the vision of stationary, wind-free napping. Finally, using a technique he called the "Triple Helix Moss Stitch," he completed it: a perfect, dense, slightly shimmering cloud.
He launched himself into the air with his creation clutched tightly. When a sudden, aggressive gust hit, Percy did not panic. He simply unfurled his knitted cloud, maneuvered his feet onto the soft landing spot, and perched mid-air. It was glorious. The wind howled beneath him, but Percy was calm, stable, and, most importantly, stationary.
He casually pulled a leaf from his satchel and began fanning himself.
Terrance, fighting a brutal headwind that threatened to de-feather him, stared open-beaked. "What... what are you doing?" he bellowed, his voice strained.
"Oh, this?" Percy replied, adjusting his position on the plush moss-cloud. "Just enjoying the view, Terrance. You really should try the Triple Helix. Excellent structural integrity."
From then on, Percy became the most sought-after pterodactyl in the valley. He opened a small, highly exclusive "Air Rest Stop and Bespoke Cloud Shop." The sign simply read: "Percy's Parcels of Plushness: We Conquer Turbulence with Textiles."
Other fliers—weary sparrows, elderly feathered serpents, and even the perpetually stressed Terrance—would pay exorbitant fees (usually in shiny river pebbles) for a chance to rest on one of Percy's stable, pastel-green creations.
Percy, once the laughingstock of the sky, was now the pioneer of atmospheric home décor. He had proven that sometimes, the best way to handle your weaknesses isn't to struggle harder, but to simply knit yourself a comfortable place to sit until the trouble passes.
The ends.
