You are in the deserts of Mongolia, Asia, 75 million years ago.

You have just taken refuge in a cave to avoid a sandstorm. The air inside the limestone fissure was heavy with dust, smelling of damp earth and something else—a faint, reptilian musk. You lowered your flashlight, its beam cutting through the gloom of the deep cave, illuminating the sandy floor.

Ten feet away, perched in a small alcove, was a flash of iridescent grey feathers. The creature sat perfectly still, its long, bird-like neck craned in your direction. Its head was crowned with a dramatic, bony crest, and its beak—sharp and toothless—remained shut, yet it chitters, a high-pitched raspy noise coming from within its throat, and the dark, intelligent eyes tracking you every movement made your blood run cold.

An Oviraptor.

It remained seated in a scrape of dirt instead of charging straight at you. It tightened its posture, its feathered arms covering seemingly nothing but darkness. It hasn’t attacked you yet, but its intense, unnerving glare warned you to stay back. But you wondered, why?