The bush stirs. A shadow pushes through the ferns broad, heavy, deliberate. The Iguanodon steps into the clearing, its bulky frame moving with steady power. Sunlight glints off the long spike of its thumb, a natural weapon carried with quiet confidence. It exhales with a guttural snort, mist rising in the cool air. Then comes the sound a deep, nasal call that rumbles through the forest, sharp and resonant. Not a threat, not a challenge but a greeting, a warning, a declaration of presence.

It stamps once, earth trembling under its weight, and raises its head high. Its eyes, watchful and alive, sweep the land before it. A survivor’s greeting wordless, raw, understood by all.