You are in the shorelines of Europe, 210 million years ago.

You were crouching near the edge of the jungle, checking the soil sample, when you heard the rustling in the fern thicket. A small, greenish, feathered creature, maybe a foot tall, stepped out. It paused, turning its head to look at you with large, dark eyes.

You sat still, watching it. It didn’t look dangerous. Then another came out. Then another.

They were incredibly fast, moving with a jerky, bird-like agility. Their long necks stretched out, sniffing the air, taking in your foreign scent. You noticed their claws first—long, sharp, and clicking against the rocky ground. Then you smelled it: a thick, musky scent that seemed to come from their wet, open mouths, which were filled with hundreds of tiny, needle-sharp teeth.