You are in the forests of North America, 66 million years ago.

The jungle canopy breaks, revealing a sunlit clearing where an Ankylosaurus goes about its business. It is low to the ground, a four-ton slab of living armor covered in bony plates. It uses its beak to strip low-hanging ferns, moving with slow, methodical purpose. A low, birdlike cooing sound emanates from its throat—a startlingly gentle noise for such an imposing beast. It barely acknowledges your presence, focused entirely on the vegetation, its tail club swaying gently, a lethal weapon resting in the grass.