Quibble_auk

—

::Creature design ground rules::

Really quick clarification, this is for the universe that I’ve created where I’ve mashed a bunch of time periods together because I can do what I want, artistic liberties, and you can’t stop me. If you don’t like it, leave. If you have questions, ask. I’m always open to brainstorming or discussing this stuff and think it’s important to get other opinions and feedback.

I just want everyone to know that I’m not aiming for perfect scientific accuracy. Nor does this reflect what I personally believe they looked like in real life… for the most part.

I will, however, try to not get too bizarre or stray too much from what I understand of modern reconstructions and try to keep things scientifically plausible. I won’t be having any dinosaurs be changed or drastically altered like they do in the Jurassic park movies, like the Dilophosaurus or Velociraptor. But I will use artistic liberties to adjust a few things.

For those who don’t know, the dilophosaurus in the Jurassic park movies are very scientifically inaccurate. Not only do they not spit or have those frills, but they are actually much larger. The movie version is around the size of a large-medium sized dog. In all reality Dilophosaurus would have been around the size of a bear. They were around 20 feet long and 6 feet tall at the hip, averaging at around an estimated 600-900 pounds.

Now, in my universe, the Dilophosaurus are a bit larger, they would average closer to 7 feet at the hip and be around 23-24 feet long. Which would increase their weight to something around 800-1,100 pounds. This is so they can carry a person more comfortably. Is this inaccurate? Yes. But it has a purpose in the story. Could I have used a different dinosaur instead? I mean probably, but I can do what I want. There’s nothing stopping me from playing around.

Who knows, maybe these people are actually just shorter.

All that said, while I’ll be changing some things like the size, I will not be adding any unreasonable tissue or features to these dinosaurs—like those stupid frills—that just don’t make sense. To any of them. At the end of the day I still want these creatures to be recognizable for what they really are. I may add a fleshy comb or extra skin in places for mating displays—there is nothing that denies that these existed and considering how bizarre modern animals and birds are, having these features are actually feasible.

Once again I’ll be trying to keep these adjustments all on the believable side, the animals should still be recognizable, they just may be flashier or differ from some other reconstructions of them.

Another note on a “paleo nerds get heated about this topic” that the media has grabbed and refused to let go.

Feathers.

Yes. Dinosaurs had feathers.

But for many large theropods—like the Tyrannosaurus rex—full plumage has been debunked. They likely had feathers or a kind of protofeather down when they were younger but they outgrew it as they aged. It would be a nuisance to maintain and care for feathers when you're that big. This does vary depending on species though.

Likewise, my Dilophosaurus don’t have feathers as adults, they have primitive quills and that same protofeather but very short and kinda… think hairless cat. They have very thin and scattered fuzz. Translucent.

—

::Dinosaur communication::

One thing I also want to clarify right off the bat. In this universe, despite the fact that I write in the dinosaurs pov a few times, they do not have a direct communication method like humans do with speech.

They do not talk. They do not have a “dinosaur language.”

They gesture, make noises, and use hormones and scents to communicate broad concepts. They are animals. They will have simpler thoughts, emotions, and understandings of the world.

That being said, not all dinosaurs have the same “language” if you will. While there will be some universal gestures that would be unanimous amongst species—example, growling is a bad sound no matter the species—a lot of the more nuanced expressions are specific to species or family. They can still perceive and interpret other species' body language, but that is due to pattern recognition, association, general predator and prey responses, and experience.

It's with that skill that dinosaurs that have been tamed and exposed to people—similar to dogs and other intelligent animals—that they can learn human words to an extent. They rely on tones and body language to determine mood and meaning, then can be trained to respond to specific words.

It’s the Pavlovian theory, they associate this specific sound (word) or gesture with a command for a specific response. Like training dogs or horses.

For clarity's sake when I write in a dinosaur pov you will be given the full sentence of human speech (unless the dinosaur has never been around people) this is just to make the story a bit easier to follow. But the dinosaur will not react to what they are really saying unless they have learned that word.

One day I’ll make a separate sheet on body language for the Dilophosaurus, which would apply to extended relatives in the Dilophosauridae family—such as the Dracovenator—and a lot of these gestures would expand into the Coelophysoidea (which there is a whole speculative debate on if dilophosaurus actually belong to that family) and a few of the looser concepts would apply to the even broader group of Neotheropoda.

But just know that they don’t have a language and gestures between species will vary.

—

::Taming and domesticating dinosaurs::

You're absolutely right. I will have rules on what dinosaurs my own character (or someone else’s oc that wants to be considered canon) can have as a companion.

Yes, yes, get out the pitchforks and pitch your hissy fits right now. Throw your tomatoes and boo me all you want. Call me a hypocrite for all I care when half of this is me preaching about artistic liberty and not restricting creativity. I mean I’m mushing all these time periods together, why am I being nit picky about what dinosaur can befriend a human.

For those who are familiar with my transformers project, I legitimately hate making rules that trap or limit people’s creativity. Especially when I have a world like this where I’m intentionally designing it so there are plenty of opportunities for people to make their own ocs that can exist in canon to the left of the main story line. This is meant to be open and accessible.

But if I don’t set rules then we end up like Star Wars. We will break unspoken in-universe rules—like bringing palpatine back—that contradicts the story and logic. It makes the media unappealing and chaotic.

What are my rules for if your character can have a dinosaur or not? Well, I personally believe they are pretty simple.

-They need to be a social animal

-Size and diet

-Predation

-Purpose

I’m going to elaborate on these really quickly, if you have any questions feel free to ask and I will try to explain this better.

First up, socialization.

The dinosaur or prehistoric creature (since this applies to pterosaurs as well) has to have a flock, herd, pack, or some sort of family group level socialization to be on the list for possible companions.

A solitary animal will not seek human company and will not fully process human intervention as something that benefits them. Most of the dinosaurs are Tamed, not Domesticated, which means they are just as wild as the ones outside of town. These ones have just been taught manners and have learned that in some way, having a relationship with a human is beneficial.

Which means they need to already have the temperament and social needs that demands that sort of interaction between individuals. If an animal is perfectly capable of hunting and providing for itself—especially when it’s a predator—why should it listen to man?

Providing food isn’t enough. In a dangerous situation or during a shortage you need to have a reason why this animal is either going to stick its neck out for you or stick around. Companionship (for most predators) or safety (for prey species). It needs to view the human as an equal or greater force in their life that’s valuable.

Next, size and Diet.

This is pretty simple. Why don’t we have pet wolves? Or bears? Or elephants? Or whales? Because they eat a lot. How is your character providing that much food given their situation in the west? How are they providing the space, housing, and social needs for the animal?

With the whale argument and orcas. We literally kidnap them from the ocean. They cannot leave. They will get depressed and die. A dinosaur can just walk over your barbed wire fence.

Dinosaurs had a different metabolism from what we understand, but the point still stands that you can’t have a sauropod as a pet. It is just too big to contain, feed, and manage. Especially because they likely migrated and lived in herds. So you wouldn’t just be feeding one sauropod, you would be feeding at least three so your one sauropod wouldn’t get sad by itself.

The dinosaur in question has to have a reason to not eat you and frolic into the sunset or to just walk out to go eat grass in your neighbors yard because you have no grass left. Likewise, how are you getting the meat to feed your Tyrannosaurus rex so it doesn’t start looking at your neighbor's horse like it’s a snack? You can’t have a huge animal unless you have the space and resources to deal with it.

A character like Danny who owns a large ranch where he rears his own sources of meat can host a larger population of Dilophosaurus because he has the resources he needs. He makes the money to keep the property through selling those dilophosaurus. A miner or merchant can’t own a dilophosaurus because that requires buying an extensive amount of meat and food. They may own a herbivore that they can set out to graze, but that also means they need to give them the time to do so. (And have the space for it)

Next up, Predation.

This is another very simple rule. The dinosaur should not look at a human and see a snack.

Now, for some pack oriented species you could raise from a young age alongside humans and they wouldn’t think humans are a food source. I did the same thing with my freshwater angelfish. When he was small I kept him with a group of guppies and other small fish, he was too tiny to eat them at the time and it adjusted him to their company. He was well fed so he never had a reason to go after these fish and so when he got big enough to eat them he didn’t associate them as a food source despite the fact that angelfish will hunt and eat smaller fish.

What I’m saying is basically, there is a very specific middle ground of dinosaurs that would naturally hunt humans, especially in a universe where they evolved alongside them. Most large pterosaurs are off the table for being a companion. I’m just putting that out there. In this universe they are natural predators of man, to the point where I have designed towns to have anti-pterosaur mechanisms in place.

I break this rule with a single character that gets to have a toothless and hiccup bit but that’s the only one. I’m a hypocrite. Sorry. I just wanted to have a cool character. I swear they aren’t overpowered in any way shape or form.

I’m just a gatekeeping snob.

This does, however, open the stage up for a lot of larger theropods to be considered since they are big enough that a human is a waste of energy to actually hunt.

Finally, why.

This is objectively the easiest to understand but also the most interesting and important parts of taming an animal. Up until now it’s all been about the animal and why they should stick around or not kill a human. Now we get to flip it around. Why should a human put the effort, time, and energy into maintaining this animal?

They could have a domesticated version of a raptor as a companion pet but for a lot of the bigger dinosaurs that are just tamed, we need a reason why. Is it for show? A passion? For their work? Do they use them to hunt or to defend their land? Is it for food? Just ask yourself some questions like that and figure out why they would want to have a dinosaur and why they would want that specific species of dinosaur as well. They would need something that suits their profession or need. You don’t get a pug as a livestock guardian dog, you don’t use a Cane Corso as a herding dog.

Just give the reason why the human has the dinosaur and why it’s that particular species.

—

::Dilophosaurus Pack dynamics::

Okay, now I’m getting into some more specific world building real quick.

I also mention packs at several points with Dilophosaurus, at the time I originally drafted this world and its concepts (which was… geez, 2021?) I was still under the impression that these guys were pack hunters, or at least family group hunters. Since then they’ve been dubbed solitary hunters due to a study that discovered they actually had a much stronger bite force than originally thought that would allow them to actually hunt alone.

This messes up some world building since—as I established earlier—the only dinosaurs I’ll let humans tame are ones that rely or function in a pack or family group structure. Scientists argue Dilophosaurus don’t fall into those categories.

Well then Quibble, why are you mentioning this flaw? Are you establishing rules only to immediately break them?

To put it simply,dear reader, all of that is speculation. Do we truly know if they hunted in packs? No. Do we know for certain that they were solitary? Nope. You see where I’m going here?

—

Now, I know that for the most part social structures with theropods are very controversial and almost always speculation. Doesn’t that mean people can argue against the rules you set in stone?

Yeah, it does.

I will try to make separate documents that go over different dinosaur groups that I believe are an exception as well as explain ones that I agree with. But this is also me inviting anyone who stumbles across this to pitch me an argument for why you think a certain species is social. If you want a species to be on the social list so your oc can pal around with them give me a reason. Make the social structure.

One of the reasons why I love when the media plays around with dinosaur concepts and actually puts thoughts into it is because at the end of the day there is so much speculation here. It leaves a lot of space for people to play around with concepts and ideas, especially in a universe that won’t have the scientific community (ideally) down your back because this is fantasy.

Do some research, send an ask, tell me how they are social. Explain and tap away to your heart's content.

Don’t just argue, give me a solution.

I’ll give you the example with my dilophosaurus arguement.

—

So, mini heart to heart out of the way. What am I proposing?

Look at what Jaguars have going on. They are all technically solitary animals, but a male’s territory will overlap over three to four females’ territories. They only drive other males away. The females tolerate the male for the most part.

But I want to take it a step further. If we look at cheetah dynamics the males actually hunt in small coalitions of two to four members while the females are solitary to raise cubs. Likewise, though slightly different circumstances, male lions are known to coexist in the same pride with a dominant male.

Where am I going with this?

While these are felines and not descendants of dinosaurs, birds have flocks and several raptors are known to hunt in mated pairs and in one instance a family group. Now, what I’m putting together here has absolutely no scientific backing. Nor is it necessarily how I believe these animals acted in real life. This is technically a fantasy setting.

What I’m suggesting isn’t a typical pack dynamic. I think that females and males would hunt in separate groups. Male packs—led by a dominant male and either his brothers or sons—would patrol a larger territory that extended over smaller female groups.

The male packs can vary in size, anything from 3 to 8 individuals depending on their relation (brothers tend to fight less due to preestablished hierarchy from when they first hatched, so they typically have larger numbers) But, the males operate separately. They do not stick together all the time, they have a lot of ground to cover so they will split up to patrol borders, keep rival males out, and hunt alone. They will cross paths, nest together during off-seasons (the winter when food is more scarce and body heat is important) but for most of the year they act alone.

Female groups of dilophosaurus are considerably smaller, they are usually two females, possibly three depending on resources. It’s usually a driving or dominant female and her daughters. There can be stray or lone females though. They are also traditionally the more aggressive and territorial of the sexes due to the fact that they have more mouths to feed (their hatchlings)

The matriarch will often kill competing female’s clutches—including the clutches of the other females in her party—to assert that her offspring are fed and cared for first. Which is why most submissive females either don’t mate or find alternative solutions, such as deception. They will lay their clutch in the same nest so the dominant female assumes they are her own and tends to them.

But, these smaller female groups make it possible for one female to hunt while the other watches over hatchlings. And the matriarch is typically the oldest and most experienced of the group and has the skills and power to protect and maintain the territory and hatchlings. The other females will hunt while she basically assumes the male role from a lion pride. But it’s that offered protection that keeps the submissive females compliant.

We have two grayscale options

And then the line art of them separate before I erased stuff... but I'm too lazy to crop it so instead we get social distancing versions of the sketch

—

Bailey was good. Very good. She was a good girl. She knew she was because he had said so. Over and over. Bailey was a good girl.

She could remember his broad shoulders pressed into her side, the crackling campfire casting long blue shadows into the night. He had sat beside her, knife cutting away at a wood scrap. His voice had been a murmur, almost lost to the wind that brought the midnight chill to the cracked earth below them.

“You’re a good girl, Bailey.”

It was different then, Bailey had him. Her pack. Now, she lay on the dry earth alone, watching a lizard poke out of its den to test the night air. The shadows melted all around her, the world was illuminated by the moons above—no golden firelight or odd voice to make her brain itch with something… familiar.

She did not know the word. She had never needed to before because it had always been a constant. But it was gone now, and Bailey felt it like a wound in her side, like a predator had taken a chunk of her skin and left her raw.

Bailey sighed, a deep, weary sound that kicked up the loose dust from the earth into a small puff. The noise alerted the nearby lizard and she listlessly watched it scamper back into its den, hidden from the cruel predators that roamed the night.

She missed him.

Tanner.

He was all she had ever needed. All she had.

Tanner was a good leader, the best, Bailey was sure. Despite his small stature, blunt teeth, and unremarkable claws. He was inventive, capable of strange, wondrous things. He didn’t need claws or teeth to tear and break, he carried knives—shiny metallic claws that stung all the same. He had his Gun. Bailey knew what a gun was, the cold metal with a sharp smell and unbelievably loud roar.

It was the product of Man.

Tanner was Man.

He was Bailey’s Man.

A growl crawled up her throat, a primal and low sound as she shifted restlessly on the barren earth. It was wise for the lizard to hide. Hide from her. She had no pack. She was dangerous.

Bailey was hungry.

Tanner had not fed her. Not for a long time now. Many seasons had passed since he had brought her prey.

But she would not have another Man feed her. Then she would have to listen. She would have a Man that was not Tanner.

Bailey was a good girl. She knew she was. She remembered that lesson. She was small then, still smaller than Tanner who was not a Man, but a boy. They had so much fun together, before Work, before Tanner became Man. But Bailey could remember, she was only ever meant to listen to him. To her Pack Leader.

The other Man could not be Tanner.

Tanner had bested her, he had used his cunning Man tricks and tools to win, to pin her and establish himself as Leader. Tanner was smarter than Bailey, he deserved to be Leader, Bailey was lucky to have him as one.

The other Man could not be her Leader.

For many seasons they had tried, but Tanner was smart, he was the best. He taught Bailey not to take food from a stranger.

That had been a hard lesson, a tricky one for her to master. But for Tanner, she had learned how to know when Man was good and when Man was Bad. She could not take food from Bad Man—the ones with ropes and chains, the ones that rank of something sour and cold—they would make it hurt. They made Bailey sick and slow.

Tanner was kind, he did not leave her. He was Pack Leader and he chose to stay, to give her a second chance.

She had never eaten something from Bad Man again.

Bailey was smart, very smart. Just like how she was Good. When Man came with ropes, when they called and whistled, when her own kind snapped and corralled—she ran. Just like Tanner told her to. She did not take their food, she did not let them catch her.

She was waiting. Like a good girl.

Bailey whined, the night breeze sending a chill down her back. She waited for the lizard to return for a moment longer before she finally moved, dismissing the meager Prey with a curt chuff. She would find other food tonight or she would go hungry. That was the way it was in the wilds. She had no pack to hunt with, no Man to bring her prey.

She lifted her head from the ground, taking a second to stretch her legs before she began her slow gait over the cracked, scorched earth that was still humming from the faded sun’s warmth. All around her, creatures of the night called, whooping and screaming into the cold desert air. Insects chirped and sang from their hidden burrows.

Sometimes Tanner would sing. When they traveled with other Man. Good Man. Those nights the campfire was always a lively, full place. All the Man would gather around and speak their language, hands gesturing greatly as they all basked in the safety of a larger pack. Together they would ward off the beasts and Bad Man. Bailey would lay with Tanner, cooing and chuffing at the others of her own kind, trilling along when Tanner would pull out his noise maker and would sing.

Bailey had seen many noise makers with many names she did not understand nor care to learn. But she knew what Tanner had—the strange hollow wooden creation he carried only when the path was well worn and safe—a Guitar. She loved when he played, when he made music just like the birds did.

There were no birds in the desert. Not any of the kinds that would sing at least.

She made her way towards the nearby patch of dry grass and brambles, nostrils flaring and body held low. The dry brush scraped against her belly, a harsh contrast to the memory of Tanner’s calloused hand smoothing over her hide. Bailey kept her head low, the twin crests atop her skull cutting through the gloom like a pair of silent, vibrant sails.

Her mouth parted just enough to taste the air. Dust. Sage. Lizard. Rock. The bitter tang of old, still water.

Then, a spike of sharp adrenaline hit her system.

Bailey froze, inhaling a deep breath of the scent. It wasn't a lizard. It wasn't the musk of a desert hare.

It was a scent that made the phantom pain in her chest flare up instantly, a painful, squeezing feeling that felt like her chest was full of thick water. It was the smell of oiled leather, cheap tobacco, and the distinct, oily musk of her own kind. Dilo. But not wild ones. These ones smelled like iron and sweat.

They smelled like Work.

Once, Bailey smelled like Work, but the smell of being touched by Man had long since faded, washed away by countless spring downpours and frigid winter winds. She did not carry a saddle of leather anymore, her hide was bare and plain.

The low rumble that started in her chest didn't break past her teeth, dying in a vibration that shook her throat. Her pupils dilated, drinking in what little light the triplet moons offered. She cocked her head, bobbing slightly as she drank in another deep breath.

They were downwind, but the desert breeze was fickle, shifting and swirling through the sharp rocky peaks. The scent was fresh.

Too fresh.

Man was here. Bad Man.

They thought they could hunt Bailey. That she would take their sour food and be fooled like a juvenile. They believed that Bailey belonged to Man.

They were wrong.

Bailey belonged to Tanner.

He was waiting, he had to be. She could not allow herself to be caught.

Tanner needed her.

Bailey melted into the shadows of a nearby weathered sandstone shelf, her mottled hide blending seamlessly with the dark rock and dead scrub. She lowered her belly until it grazed the dirt, her powerful hind legs tucked beneath her, ready to pounce or spring away. The vibrant crests on her head, usually held high and proud when she was with Tanner, were lowered until she was sure the moonlight would not catch their bright reds and expose her.

A sound cut through the nightly chorus of crickets. The rhythmic, heavy thud of three toed feet striking the cracked bed of earth and dead grass.

Bailey tilted her head towards the sound, pressing herself further into the outcrop.

It wasn't the chaotic, light patter of wild juveniles. It was the synchronized, burdened gait of a working mount. A Dilo carrying weight. Carrying Man.

Bailey could not fight the low growl this time, just loud enough the nearby crickets falling silent as it rumbled into the crisp night air—thankfully, it was quiet enough that the hawk that had landed nearby did not stir from its perch.

“Easy, girl. Keep her steady.”

The voice drifted over the ridge. It was a Man’s voice, a gravelly murmur meant to be quiet, but to Bailey’s sensitive ears, it scraped like flint on steel. Her skin twitched, lean muscles bunching. She knew that voice. She knew this smell. Bailey didn’t forget, she was smart.

It was Jesse.

Long ago, Jesse had been part of the big pack. He had shared fire with Tanner. He had given Tanner tobacco, and Tanner had given Jesse a carved piece of cedar. Jesse led his own pack, Bailey’s broodmate, Gale and a raptor that Bailey got to play with when they stopped for fire and if she was Good.

Jesse used to be Good Man.

Then he came with ropes and chains, he stole her saddle, he tried to capture her. He tried to keep Bailey from returning to Tanner. A foolish, silly attempt that resulted in Bailey being a Bad girl. She bit Jesse. He deserved it. He was a Bad Man now. A very, very Bad Man who pretended to be good.

Bailey licked her lip, running her tongue over her teeth as she tasted the air.

“See anything, Vance?” Jesse’s voice came again, closer now.

Another voice answered, accompanied by the distinct, metallic clink of a bit jingling in a dinosaur's mouth. “Tracks are fresh, Jess. She’s nesting close. Or hunting. Hugo’s getting restless.”

The clink of the bit made Bailey’s jaw ache. She remembered the cold iron taste of it, the way it pinched the soft flesh of her gums if she pulled too hard against the reins. Tanner had stopped using a bit after their first season together, relying instead on a soft leather hackamore and the gentle press of his boots against her flanks.

That strange drowning sensation was back, her heart beating a painful, skipping beat in her chest now.

Jesse’s mount chuffed—a sharp, rattling sound that vibrated through the brisk air and off the nearby rocks. It was Gale. Bailey recognized the specific, heavy whistle in her sister's nostrils, a remnant of an old injury from a wild bull horn. Gale smelled entirely of Work now. She smelled of grease, saddle soap, and the sour sweat of a rider who pushed through the heat of the day.

Gale used to play with Tanner when he was a boy too. She used to be a Good girl.

Now she was either Predator or Pack.

Gale had Jesse though, and Jesse was a Bad Man, which meant Gale was not Pack, she was Predator. A dangerous one, she had the experience Bailey had, she was better fed than herself. But she would be slower, relying on the commands of Jesse.

Still, Bailey would need to avoid confrontation.

“Don’t let your beast get sloppy, Vance,” Jesse grunted. The creak of his leather saddle groaned into the night as he shifted his weight. “Bailey ain’t a regular stray. Tanner raised her smart. She thinks like a person, and she fights like a devil.”

“She’s just a lizard, Jess,” Vance muttered back. His mount—a younger, broader male Bailey didn't know—let out a low, aggressive hiss, his nostrils flaring as it caught a stray draft of the wind. “Tanner’s been food for the scavengers nearly five years now. She’s wild. Feral.”

The word hung in the air, meaningless to Bailey’s mind but heavy with the weight of their intrusion.

“Maybe,” Jesse murmured, shifting to pull a flask out and taking a swift sip, “But it don’t mean she ain’t smart.”

Bailey could taste the male’s restlessness, he would be ruthless in a fight. Not nearly as strong as Bailey, but he would be faster, more aggressive. That would be his downfall though, Bailey could use her own experience to make up for what she lacked due to her age.

Still, with Man, she could not win a fight. She didn’t have a Gun, she didn’t have Tanner.

She whined, shifting her weight as she glanced around the open desert, sizing up the towering sandstone structures and the gently swaying grass.

Silly mistake. Foolish.

Bad girl.

Gale turned her head towards the sound of distress, bobbing as she tried to pinpoint the location. She trilled, a silent call for a pack member—the male replied absently, his head tilting as he stepped forward to investigate what had caught Gale’s attention himself.

The other Bad Man—Vance—hand immediately slapped the male’s neck. It wasn’t enough to hurt, Bailey knew because Tanner had done the same when he was teaching her, but enough to startle and force a correction. The male huffed, tossing his head in protest but halted.

Good boy.

She almost clicked to the younger male, but she caught the sound in her throat before it exposed her.

The silence that followed was suffocating. The crickets didn't return. The desert held its breath, and so did Bailey. She pressed her ribs flat against the dirt, wishing she could sink into the very stone.

Slowly, Bailey shifted her weight, trying to move as the wind turned. Her golden eyes remained trained on the ridge where Hugo stamped a heavy, impatient foot. Gale called out again—a testing trill. Gale was tracking her like Prey.

Bailey took a backward step, balancing low, but her tail brushed a tuft of dry grass. A loose pebble dislodged.

It clattered against the sandstone shelf. A sharp, terrible click in the dead silence.

She froze.

“You hear that?” Vance whispered, the leather of his saddle groaning as he leaned forward, watching as both Gale and Hugo shifted to face the noise.

“I heard it,” Jesse said. His voice dropped an octave, losing its gravelly impatience and taking on a cold, focused edge. It was the tone he used to use when they tracked Bad Man back in the old pack. “Gale’s tracking.”

Bailey watched through the skeleton branches of a dead sagebrush. Gale’s head was high, her snout tilting toward the sandstone shelf. Her nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of her wild sister. For a fraction of a second, Gale’s amber eyes locked onto the exact shadow where Bailey hid.

Pack? Bailey’s mind pricked with the ancient, forgotten urge. Sister?

No.

Pack was Tanner. Sister was Predator.

But Gale didn't chuff a greeting. She merely tilted her head, the bit clinking against her teeth as she licked her lips. Jesse pulled back, and Gale obediently stepped into the darkness, her heavy weight shifting in near silence—ruined only by the creaking of heavy leather.

“She’s under the shelf,” Jesse muttered.

The sound that followed made Bailey’s skin crawl, the small, unnoticeable quills along her spine rising in instinctual terror. It was a dry, sliding sound. Canvas rubbing against leather. The metallic clack-clack of a lever being thrown back and chambering a round.

A Gun. Jesse had a Gun.

They hurt. Bailey knew. She knew what a Gun did. She had seen Tanner take down much larger predators with it.

Bailey had felt Gun’s unforgiving bite when Tanner left.

She shifted her weight again, her muscles twitching and spasming as she waited and watched. Bailey clamped her throat shut, choking back a whine. She twisted her head, straining to catch a scent, a remnant of her pack leader. But there was no Tanner. Just Man. Only Gun. Her tongue ran over her teeth, nostrils flaring as she clamped her jaw. And again. And again. The faint clicking of her teeth carrying faintly on the wind.

Gale tensed up at the sound, licking her lips again and tilting her head, chest heaving.

Bailey had given her warning.

The Bad Man were stupid, they did not notice. Jesse simply corrected Gale, pressing her to take a few steps closer despite her clear unease.

“Vance, circle wide to the left. Don’t let her break for the flats. If she gets into the open scrub, we’ll never run her down on these weights.”

“You want her alive, right?” Vance asked, his mount already shifting into a low, predatory crouch.

Jesse scoffed, a sharp, annoyed sound, “You think Danny wants his brother’s prize dino for a wall mount?”

Bailey knew Danny. He was Good like Tanner. He stayed at home on the ranch. He was part of Tanner’s pack, his broodmate.

It had been a long, long time since Tanner had gone to see him. They always seemed to be locked in a perpetual power struggle for who was the leading sibling—something Bailey had wasted no time in establishing in her own brood.

“We only shoot to cripple or if she’s trying to rip a throat out, alright?” Jesse finished, his voice still dripping with a venomous tone.

Guided by Vance’s reins, the male slowly stalked around Bailey, cutting off the direct path to the open ground.

Stupid, Bad Man.

Bailey knew better than to run into an open field with no cover.

She pressed her haunches deeper into the dark throat of the stone shelf. Tanner had taught her how to use the rocks. They thought they were cornering her, but they were just stepping into her jaw—or rather, the Predator’s maw.

All she needed to do was get to the canyon.

The canyon was a gaping wound in the desert's flesh, a labyrinth of jagged red rock and sheer drop offs just north of where she was. Bailey knew every crevice of it. More importantly, she knew what slept in its deepest, darkest throat.

“Move in slow,” Jesse commanded, his voice a low hiss over the creak of leather. “She’s pinned.”

They thought they had her. They thought like Man—calculating, arrogant, relying on their metal claws and loud roars to bridge the gap between their weak bodies and the wild. But Bailey didn't think like a regular stray.

She thought like Tanner’s girl.

She waited until Hugo’s heavy, stupid snout was practically poking into the sagebrush, his breath hot and sour with the smell of specialized feed. Vance was leaning forward, a heavy hemp rope coiled tightly in his calloused hand, his eyes squinting into the gloom.

Bailey didn't whine. She didn't growl.

With a sudden, explosive burst of power, she drove her hind legs into the sandstone shelf.

The rock cracked beneath her claws as she launched herself forward, not at the open flats Vance was guarding, but directly at Hugo’s blind spot. She didn't use her teeth—she didn't want to get tangled in the reins. Instead, she slammed her entire body weight, dense and muscled by years of wild survival, right into the younger male’s shoulder with a grating hiss.

Hugo let out a panicked, undignified shriek as the impact sent him stumbling sideways into the dirt—his rider and heavy saddle throwing off his balance. Vance, completely caught off guard, cursed loudly as his stirrups slipped. The heavy hemp rope dropped from his hand, uncoiling like a dead snake into the brush.

“Jesse! She’s breaking!” Vance yelled, scrambling to keep his seat as Hugo thrashed to right himself.

Bailey didn't look back.

She hit the ground running, her long, powerful tail outstretched for balance as she sprinted toward the northern rim. Her vibrant crests catching the brilliant moonlight, a proud, undeniable display of her health. She streamlined, lowering her head and focusing on nothing but the earth in front of her.

Bang!

The desert shattered.

A flash of blinding, golden light erupted from Jesse’s position, followed by the deafening crack of his Gun. The bullet zipped past Bailey’s flank, close enough that the displaced air hissed against her skin and chipped a fountain of sparks off a boulder to her left. The sharp, bitter scent of burnt gunpowder filled her nostrils, fueling her panic.

Bailey veered right, a desperate screech escaping her as she narrowly avoided stumbling over her own feet. She could feel the itching heat of long healed scars. Her heart beating on her ribs like a beast within a cage, desperate to escape. She corrected herself, heading north once again.

Bad girl.

She knew better than to flinch at Gun’s roar.

Bang!

Another roar. This one clipped the dirt right behind her heel, kicking up a spray of sharp gravel that stung her ankle.

For a second, the sheer canyon before her looked like an unnatural, Man-made wall crafted to keep unwanted things out. To keep Bailey away from Tanner.

Jesse was shouting, his voice tight and angry, urging Gale into a sprint. Gale’s heavy, rhythmic thuds echoed behind her, fast and relentless. Gale was a working mount, built for endurance, and she wasn't burdened by the shock that had slowed Hugo.

She was gaining ground.

But Bailey had a head start, and she had the slope.

The flat, cracked earth gave way to a steep, rocky descent. The entrance to the canyons loomed ahead—a massive, jagged tear in the earth where the moonlight barely penetrated. To a Man, it looked like a death trap of loose shale and broken ankles. To Bailey, it was safety.

She leaped over the rim, her claws sliding expertly on the loose gravel as she skidded down the steep incline. She bounced off a boulder, using the momentum to pivot sharply around a blind corner, plunging into the deep, suffocating shadows of the canyon walls.

Behind her, the sounds of pursuit changed. The heavy, suffocating pace slowed. Jesse and Vance were forced to a walk, their mounts snorting and picking their way down the treacherous path with caution.

“Watch the ledge, Vance!” Jesse’s voice echoed down the stone corridor, muffled and distorted by the rock faces. “Don’t let the mounts slip. We’ve got her boxed in this channel anyway. There’s nowhere for her to climb out.”

Bailey slowed her frantic pace to a steady, silent trot, her chest heaving as she sucked in the cool, damp air of the canyon bottom. The smell of the open desert vanished, replaced by the scent of ancient stone, cold iron ore, and decay.

They thought she was boxed in. They thought they were the only predators in the dark.

She was a smart girl.

Bailey stopped, her claws clicking softly on the smooth stone of the canyon floor. She turned her head, bobbing slightly, her golden eyes tracking the faint, bouncing beams of the lanterns the Men had struck. They were coming down the canyon, single file, believing their target was trapped at the dead end ahead.

But Bailey wasn't going to the dead end. She was standing right outside a massive, black cavern opening that split the canyon wall—a place where the air dragged out a foul, terrifying musk.

It was a scent far heavier than any Dilo. It smelled of old blood, crushed bone, and a massive, unforgiving heat.

Bailey shifted her feet, bracing herself for a second longer before she let out a sharp trilling into the open maw of the cavern, a gamble of life for the sake of returning to Tanner. Her heart picked back up to the pace of a racing hare. Her small quills bristled again.

Deep within the cavern, something shifted. It wasn't the quick, agile movement of her own kind, but a slow, colossal stir. A low vibration rumbled through the stone beneath Bailey’s feet, so deep it was felt in the ribs rather than heard by the ears.

The desert cousin. A tyrant of the wastes, smaller than the legendary kings of the lush valleys, but leaner, meaner, and fiercely territorial.

Bailey took a step backward, melting into a narrow, vertical crevice in the rock face just opposite the cave mouth, one too narrow for a well fed mount with a saddle. She squeezed her body tight, holding her breath, her eyes locked on the approaching lantern light.

“Track leads right down here,” Vance’s voice echoed, closer now. Hugo chuffed, but the sound was tight, choked with a sudden, instinctual dread. The young male stopped dead in his tracks, his legs trembling.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jesse grunted, his leather saddle creaking as he forced Gale forward. But Gale, too, hesitated. Her nostrils flared, a high-pitched, terrified whistle escaping her throat as she tasted the heavy air of the canyon floor.

Bailey was a Good Girl.

She clicked to herself, watching the Predators shift into Prey.

“Jess… look at the walls,” Vance whispered, his lantern sweeping upward.

The light illuminated massive, deep gouges in the sandstone—scores made by claws large enough to flay Man, far too high for any Dilo to reach.

Bailey watched from the shadows, her jaws parting slightly. She didn't make a sound. She was a good girl. She was smart. She had brought the Bad Man right to the Leader of this canyon.

From the pitch-black mouth of the cavern, two massive eyes caught the reflection of Vance’s lantern, glowing with a cold, predatory hunger. A terrifying, wet chattering rippled out of the cavern, a sound that seemed to suck the very moisture from the canyon air.

“Back up,” Jesse commanded, his voice no longer cold and focused, but frantic, sharp with sudden panic. “Vance, turn him around! Back up now!”

The warning came too late.

The darkness of the cave mouth erupted. The desert cousin of the infamous Tyrannosaurus Rex—a lean, scarred tarbosaurus—burst into the lantern light with horrifying speed. It didn't boast the lumbering build of its larger forest relatives; this beast was built of corded muscle and desperate, desert-born starvation.

Hugo didn't wait for Vance's reins.

The young male Dilophosaurus let out a high pitched shriek of pure terror, spinning so violently on the loose shale that his flank slammed into the canyon wall. Vance screamed as his lantern flew from his hand, shattering against the stone and plunging the channel into chaotic, dancing shadows lit only by Jesse’s bouncing light and the sliver of moonlight.

With a bellow that seemed to rattle the air, the apex predator lunged. Its massive jaws, lined with blade like teeth, clamped down hard on Hugo’s crest, snapping the bone with a sickening ease and adjusting its grip to Hugo’s shoulder. The young male bucked and thrashed, his smaller claws tearing uselessly at the tyrant's thick hide as he was dragged into the dirt.

“Gale, move!” Jesse yelled, the sharp crack of his Gun echoing through the canyon once more—ratting Bailey’s skull as the air filled with the familiar, choking copper scent of blood.

Bang! Bang!

The muzzle flashes illuminated the horror in strobes of brilliant, golden light. The bullets struck the tyrant’s thick torso, drawing spurts of dark blood and bellows of agony. It reared, shaking Hugo like a desert hare, a sickening crunch of bone echoing through the cavern air, silencing the younger dinosaur’s cries.

Vance was thrown clear, scrambling on his hands and knees through the dirt, his face pale and eyes wide with shock. “Jesse!”

But Jesse was fighting his own battle. Gale was pitching and rearing, her instinct to flee warring violently against the iron bit in her mouth and the weight of her rider. She called in terror, her tail slashing blindly, striking the stone walls.

From her narrow crevice, Bailey watched with wide, unblinking golden eyes. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she remained absolutely still, her ribs pressed flat against the cold stone, panting. The smell of hot, metallic blood and burnt gunpowder filled the air—the scent of Work, of Bad Man, of the cruel reality of the wilds.

She felt no sympathy for Gale. Gale had chosen the Bad Man.

Jesse fired again, but Gale’s frantic bucking threw his aim wide, the bullet ricocheting uselessly off the upper cliffs. The tarbosaurus dropped Hugo’s limp body, its bloody snout swinging toward the remaining intruders. It took a heavy step forward, its tail whipping around and smashing into the canyon wall just inches from where Vance was trying to stand.

This was her moment.

While the tyrant’s focus was entirely locked onto the flashing fire of Jesse’s Gun and the screaming Man, Bailey began to squeeze her way backward through the vertical crevice. The rough sandstone scraped against her bare flanks, a sharp reminder of her wild freedom, but she didn't make a sound. She was a good girl. She was smart.

She slipped through the narrow gap, emerging onto a hidden, steep game trail that wound upward into the higher, jagged ridges of the canyon—a path far too treacherous and tight for a large predator to follow.

Below her, the chaos reached a crescendo. A horrific scream from Vance cut through the night, abruptly cut short by the snapping roar of the tyrant. Jesse was cursing, the heavy thuds of Gale’s frantic retreat echoing back down the channel as he finally gave up the hunt, fleeing the canyon before the beast could claim them both.

Bailey didn't look back to see who survived.

She sprinted up the steep incline, her powerful hind legs driving her up and away from the blood scented dark. When she finally broke through the canyon rim, the vast, open desert stretched out beneath the triplet moons once more. The air here was clean, smelling of sage and distant rain.

She slowed to a steady, rhythmic trot, her vibrant red crests catching the cool moonlight.

The Bad Man were gone. They would not be following her. They would be tending to their wounds, mourning their dead, and fearing the dark. They would think twice before they ever tried to hunt Tanner’s girl again.

Bailey stopped atop a high sandstone bluff, looking out over the endless, shimmering expanse of the desert wastes.

She lowered her head and let out a soft, mourning trill into the midnight wind—a song for the campfire, a song for the shared firelight, a song for the boy who became a Man.

Tanner wasn't in the canyon. He wasn't in the flats. Bailey knew where he was, he was beyond. He was hidden deep within the sterile wall that kept the wilds from invading the East. He was still waiting, still wanting Bailey to be a good girl, to listen—even when she knew better.

Bailey could remember it. Vividly. She knew she would never forget. The roar of Gunfire, the thrill of a chase, the lurch of a free fall. And Tanner—her Man, no, Bailey’s boy—choking on his own blood, trapped, yelling at her to run. To be a Good Girl and listen.

She didn’t run then, she knew better now. She knew to be good and run, even if Tanner was hurt, even when he was crying and looking so very small.

Bailey would listen, she had learned her lesson now.

He shot her crest because she was Bad.

A Bad Girl.

Only then did she run. Then she listened.

Tanner still didn’t come back, he didn’t give her another chance.

But now, she was being a Good girl. She was running. She was waiting. Tanner would be back, he would laugh and call her his good girl and scratch her chin and they could lay in a pasture until the sun went to sleep. Tanner was smart, he would not fall to the Bad Man from over the wall.