About an hour after meeting Sage, we heard them before we saw them, soft vocalizations echoing through the trees, almost like birds calling to each other. Cabot signaled for us to move carefully, and that's when we found the herd. Maiasaura. Ten of them total, scattered through a clearing near a half-frozen stream, and right there in the center of my viewfinder was the most beautiful thing I've seen all day.
Her name is Iris, I decided the moment I watched her. She's this gorgeous brown Maiasaura standing at the water's edge, and every few seconds her head swivels, scanning the tree line with such focus and purpose. She's not eating. She's not resting. She's watching. Because splashing in the shallow water in front of her is her baby, this tiny brown mirror image of her mother that I've named Fawn. And oh my god, you guys, Fawn is playing. Stomping her little feet in the water, sending up splashes that catch the falling snow, completely carefree because she knows, she knows, that her mama has her back.
I must have taken fifty photos of them, but I keep coming back to this one. Iris standing guard, snowflakes catching on her back, while Fawn discovers the joy of cold water on a winter day. This is what people don't understand about dinosaurs. They're not monsters. They're not Hollywood nightmares. They're mothers protecting their babies. They're families staying close in harsh conditions. They're real, and they feel things, and they care for each other the way any animal does. The rest of the herd is nearby, I can see their shapes moving between the trees, and they're all staying together, looking out for one another.
But here's the thing that's breaking my heart: this island can't sustain them through the winter. The vegetation is sparse, the water sources are freezing over, and a herd this size with babies? They need stability. They need safety. They need us. Cabot's already making notes about transport logistics, and I know Gavin's sketching Iris's protective stance in his field journal. We're going to bring this whole family home to DFW, where Fawn can play without her mother having to constantly watch for threats, where they can all thrive instead of just survive. Because every mother deserves to watch her baby play without fear. Even if that mother lived 75 million years ago.
