You are in the forests of China, 124 million years ago.

The humid air of the Liaoning forest felt thick, smells of wet fern and pine pressing in around me. You were kneeling, brushing dirt off a fossilized piece of bark, when a flash of reddish-brown moved in the canopy above. It wasn't a bird—the movement was too heavy, too precise.

You froze. Perched on a branch only fifteen feet away was a Sinornithosaurus.

It was roughly the size of a turkey, but it held itself with the cold intensity of a predator. Its body was entirely covered in feathers, ranging from dark, raven-black on its wing-like arms to a mottled rust color along its spine. It stared down at you, its head tilted, and I could see the distinct, needle-sharp teeth in its jaw, a strange mix of bird and beast.

It wasn't afraid. It was calculating. It gave a low, hissing rattle, a sound that seemed to vibrate through its feathers, reminiscent of a snake. It shifted, displaying the rigid, long tail that acted as a counterbalance for its sharp "killing claw" second toe. The theory of venomous, grooved fangs instantly came to mind, and you feel a primal shiver down your spine...