Two-horn’s breathing shallowed to a whisper, she quietly sniffed at the foulness in the air to determine what threat lay just beyond the thicket protecting her and her two chicldren huddled under her in safety. Two?
Involuntarily her breathing became pannicked and jagged amongst her now thundering heartbeat. Red Crown, where’s Red Crown she thought of the smallest of her brood.
Then her heart skipped its beats and she cried out as her bulging eyes spotted him out of reach on the other side of their safe cove, and at the sight of a raptor plunging through the underbrush and grabbing Red Crown by his just forming mantle.
Amidst her shreiks of alarm, the bloodied head of a crazed brontosaurus slammed into the clearing, nashing its molars, its eyes lolling in there sockets.
The Raptor paused next to her, then proceeded out of the thicket letting out a sound she never heard a hunter make before.
She grabbed her other babies in her mouth and followed his cry, the cry of retreat from a predator.