Eat the blue ones
Clear every flower and the burrow collapses into a new one, dug deeper and faster. There is no last level. There is only how long you lasted.
He has one summer to get fat enough to sleep through winter.
The flowers are underground. So is he. So are you.



Clear every flower and the burrow collapses into a new one, dug deeper and faster. There is no last level. There is only how long you lasted.
Four birds of prey fly over the whole board on long banking curves, each hunting to a different rule. One comes straight down your neck. One aims at where you are about to be. One flanks. One loses interest.
A bird at cruise cannot touch you. Only a dive can — and every dive is announced before it starts.
Every wall in the burrow can be dug out, three bites at a time, and the damage stays where you left it. Come back to a half-finished hole when the sky is busy elsewhere.
Except the vined outer ring. That one is bedrock.
Some rooms have no doors. You can see the flowers through the wall and there is exactly one way to reach them.