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The Bastard

 It was a spectacle. 


The bone-headed dinosaur charged, braying, all of the weight of its body aligned behind a battering ram for a face. It’s turn was violent, quick— one of the dromeosaurs was caught— tried to fling itself sideways, an elegant leg thrown out awkwardly from horizontal stance. Too late. It’s shrill keening whistle was broken off by sudden, concussive impact as nearly a ton of muscle and bone slammed forward. Even from here I could hear the ugly snap of bone. The dromeosaurs were athletic to be sure but with that came lightweight bones, fragile sinews that with enough force could be buckled, crushed. This was no different, and in a heap the predator came down, limbs bent, shattered as the pacheycphalosaur followed through in phalanx charge. 


When it whipped around to face the remaining attackers I saw crimson streaks splashed over its vermillion beak, golden snout. It panted, flanks heaving. I held back a cheer. The stubborn bastard wasn’t done, not yet. 


But neither were it’s attackers, it seemed. They kept their whistling and chirping, it seemed to grow even louder with the death of their comrade. Crimson colored jaws flashed forward, barking, needle-teeth cutting small but bloody gouges into the herbivores sides. The Bastard (my name for him) would bark and charge, whirling in quick flourishes, throwing his domed head forward. Fewer and fewer hits connected as time went on. I felt my stomach drop. Watched on in macabre interest, studied how the theropod hunters wouldn’t slash with their curving killer toes (too delicate?), but instead with their hand talons, swiping and slashing before hopping back. It was so eerie, so birdlike. Their energy was seemingly boundless, their tenacity coldly calculated and formidable, all the while the Bastard would responde less, and less, and less.. 


When my Cretaceous knight hit the dirt, he looked dazed. His eyes under their shield-like furrows were glazed, subdued. He did not kick when the claws began to pin him down. The dinosaur barely even barked as speedy crimson jaws began to pluck and bite and yank. 


They ate him alive as the sun sank. I shivered despite the heat. 


All night in the pitch darkness, I could hear the whistling. Like wordless, singing voices declaring one thing and one thing only. 


Victory.

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