You are in the forested plains of Europe, 72 million years ago.

The air in the Late Cretaceous European archipelago was heavy, humid, and smelled intensely of ferns and wet earth. You stayed crouched behind the sprawling roots of a conifer-like tree, holding your breath as you watch a herd of Rhabdodon.

About four to five meters long, with a robust, stocky build that made them look more like heavily muscled Iguanodonts than the smaller ornithopods you were used to imagining. They were walking mostly on their powerful hind legs, their tails balancing them as they moved through the clearing. Their heads were unusually blunt and triangular, sporting a sharp, keratin-covered beak that sniped through thick, fibrous vegetation with ease.

A large individual—likely the matriarch—stopped only thirty feet away from your hiding spot. It paused, its head lifting, searching. You could see the fine, scale-like texture of its skin, patterned with olive-green and brown spots that blended perfectly with the forest canopy. Its eye, intelligent and alert, scanned the perimeter.