You are in the floodplains of Europe, 170 million years ago.

The humid air of the Middle Jurassic floodplain hung heavy, smelling of crushed ferns and ozone. You crouched behind the massive, rough-barked trunk of a tree, watching a herd of Cetiosaurus move through the low-lying mist. There were at least a dozen of them—massive, archaic sauropods, their arched backs creating a living mountain range against the hazy sky.

They moved with a slow, deliberate grace, their long necks swaying like seaweed in a gentle tide. You watched as a large adult tore a massive mouthful of horsetails, the sound of its teeth stripping vegetation sounding like a wet, snapping branch. It didn't notice you; its small head was entirely focused on the endless cycle of feeding.

The sheer mass of them was humbling. The ground trembled slightly, a low-frequency hum that vibrated through the soles of your boots with every heavy footfall.