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

The air in the Hell Creek formation was thick, humid, and smelled intensely of wet ferns and pine. You were crouched near a partially eroded mudbank, when a low, rhythmic thumping caught your attention.

It wasn't a roar, but a tense, territorial sound. You froze.

Through the dense foliage, about thirty feet away, a small dinosaur—maybe ten feet long—stepped into a sunlit clearing. It was breathtaking, looking less like a typical herbivore and more like a medieval legend brought to life. Its snout was long, but the back of its skull was a wild crown of sharp, ivory-colored spikes and knobs, reminiscent of a dragon's frill.

A Dracorex.

It tilted its head, noticing you. Its eyes were sharp and intelligent, showing no fear, only curiosity. It didn't dome-butt the ground like a Pachycephalosaurus might; instead, it rubbed its spiky head against the bark of a fallen cedar, perhaps alleviating an itch or marking its territory…