You are in the polar forests of Australia, 114 million years ago.

The air was bitterly cold, thick with the mist of the rising sun, yet the ferns around me remained vibrant green. It was an unusual world—a, lush, polar landscape illuminated by a low sun that had only just returned after months of near-darkness. You crouched low, waiting for a rustle in the dense undergrowth of conifers and ferns.

Then, you saw them. Not one, but a small group—a small herd.

They were Atlascopcosaurus. They were smaller than you imagined, perhaps only 2–3 meters in length, with the sleek, nimble shape of a modern kangaroo, though without the fur or ears. They moved with quick, jerky movements on two powerful hind legs, their long, stiffened tails acting as rudders for balance as they navigated the soft, wet ground.

One stopped to feed, using its small hands to pull at a patch of horsetails. Up close, they were covered in scales, and one turned its head—displaying a small beak and large, intelligent eyes—to look directly at you before letting out a soft, bird-like chirp.