You are in the badlands of Mongolia, Asia, 70 million years ago.

The heat in the canyon was suffocating, turning the arid landscape into a haze of orange dust. You pressed yourself against the rocky wall, watching a small herd of Prenocephale browsing on the sparse vegetation near a drying waterhole. They were no larger than a big dog, maybe eight feet long from nose to tail, but their presence was commanding.

The leader—a male with a particularly thick, smooth, beige-colored dome—stopped eating and snapped its head up, sniffing the air. Its sloping, strangely angled head gave it a menacing profile, surrounded by small, bony, yellowish knobs.

It caught your scent.

It didn't flee. Instead, the small herbivore lowered its head, aiming its hardened skull directly at you. It let out a sharp, bird-like hiss, stamping its long, slender hind legs. It was clearly prepared to defend its drinking spot…