You are in the deserts of South Africa, 252 million years ago.

The late afternoon sun beat down on the Permian mudflats, transforming the world into a haze of heat. You crouched near the edge of a dry, cracked streambed, scanning the desolation. The air was surprisingly quiet until you noticed the small, crater-like holes dotting the bank, nearly hidden by sparse, wiry vegetation.

As you watched, a small, spade-shaped head popped out of the nearest mound, its large black eyes blinking against the light. It was a Diictodon, a sturdy, dachshund-sized creature with a turtle-like beak and a pair of small, downward-pointing tusks. It wasn't alone. Another immediately emerged beside it, a cozy pair huddled at the entrance of their burrow.

You held my breath as they began chattering, the sound a low, rhythmic snapping. One of them—perhaps the male, with slightly larger tusks—sniffed the air, its snout twitching, before turning back and digging deeper into the, in a rapid, corkscrew motion. The pair worked in tandem, creating a secure, cool subterranean retreat from the sweltering heat.

Just as the sun began to drop lower, the colony became more active as you watched. Other Diictodons emerge from nearby tunnels and venture out onto the vast barren lands to graze on the tough roots and tubers, merely ignoring your presence, thinking that you are not a threat to them...