Blizzard

The early spring blizzards were the most enjoyable kind for yeti families; able to get outside and blend almost invisibly into the surroundings, they could let the children play, tend to long overdue cave repairs, and do some shopping. Even protected by thick curtains of snow and white out winds, however, humans lurked on the edges of everything everywhere. Prone to good deeds, they'd dig out and rescue the occasional delirious hiker and plop them down in front of the sherpa station with a loud thud and a scratch on the door. Prone to mischief also, they'd lob snowballs at the other ones (those arrogant, reckless, and idiotic for their trust in USB-rechargeable heated socks and doomsday prepper rations). They'd wander out, and the yeti would track them (releasing a howl or two to make them jumpy). They had learned to "team lob" and arch the snowballs in such a way as to make them collide in mid-air above the heads of the target to convince them that an avalanche was coming. Oh, the hilarity ... at least until the person collapsed in terror and made yellow snow. Frequently, the second type of trekker became the first, and the yeti would kick themselves for being so stupid (wasting valuable DIY project and community time to make another sherpa station trip). Still, at the end of the day, you went home - and home meant a roaring fire and yak horn snacks with the beasts of legend you could claim as your own.