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Thunder Lizards

 A dance. 


The crash of behemoth legs, thick as tree trunks. Pillars to hold up flanks that could encompass all of the sea and sky and earth. Rising. Falling. Walking mountains claiming 

this Earth in deliberate, primordial strides led by yawning shadows. 


A dance. 


Furious horns and proud frills. Cracked shield-faces thrust up, out, and retracted, unyielding. Painted in striking bold pronouncements from one clan or another. Dizzying arrays of horns like an endless parade of the finest, fiercest blades. Sheathed in keratin to exaggerate, enlarge. 


A dance. 


Swaying, armored sides. Lashing tails clubbed and spiked, beaked mouths barking, snapping, coughing. Angry forms thrilled for a fight, eager to prove against predator malevolence. A thud shattering hungry teeth. A crack that splinters bone. A sickening slash at flesh that brings bloody rain. 


A dance. 


A thousand, thousand voices. Chorused, harmonized thunder. It sings out. It whispers. Valleys caressed, mountains mapped, islands charted; all by those who sing, those who speak. Entire histories dwell in those reverberating hymns, whole cataclysms preserved by undulating notes and howling requiems, chirped directions, screeched prayers. 


A dance. 


Great, crashing jaws crack the moon into pale macabre slivers like pitiful bone. Splintered, fragmented hopes dashed on fang numerous and terrible. They are swift and silent as death, archangels in the flesh and bear names as devastating as holy disaster. Shadows leaping, twisting. Leviathans sprawled. The dragons of old. Alive. 


A dance. 


Something ties them. Something conjures thoughts too abstract for the minds of mere primitives, something too vivid drives impossibly intelligent stares. In every guttural snarl are unspoken designs. Through slashing claws emerges a design. A unity. 



They speak in one voice and the Earth trembles with living thunder. 


They are the Dinosaurs.

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