You are in the shallow seas of Europe, 185 million years ago.

The mist over the ocean was thick, turning the morning into a muted grey watercolor. You were alone on your small boat near the center of the shallow sea, looking for nothing in particular.

Suddenly, the silence was broken—not by a splash, but by a heavy, wet exhale.

Twenty yards to your left, the water broken, and a long, slender neck rose gracefully, like a swan’s, but covered in dark, slick skin that gleamed in the dim light. The entire body, including the elongated neck, was easily twelve feet long. The neck didn't immediately bend; it hovered, rigid and curious.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat, as the relatively small head turned, revealing dark, wet eyes that seemed to look right through you. There was a strange grace to it, nothing like the lumbering monsters of films. It didn't snap, it didn't roar. It simply curved its neck downward, scanning you and the surface of the ocean with an almost intelligent gaze…