You are in the forests of China, 75 million years ago.

The morning air in the jungle was thick and smelled of ozone and volcanic ash. You woke not to the sound of birds, but to a low, vibrations-through-the-ground hum that rattled your teeth. You opened my eyes, and found yourself looking up at a massive, olive-green snout.

A Sinoceratops was standing just inches from your tent. Its dramatic, knobbed frill, adorned with blunt, horn-like protrusions, dwarfed your meager shelter, and its wet, broad nose, featuring a single, hooked nasal horn, snuffled loudly, sniffing at the air—and at you. It wasn't hostile, just intensely curious, its dark, intelligent eyes studying you as you sat paralyzed with surprise.

Suddenly, it let out a deep, guttural bellow that vibed in your chest, a curious "hello" that sounded more like a foghorn. It leaned down, and you felt a thick, slimy sensation on your cheek as it gave a quick, inquisitive lick of your face. You barely blinked, observing the curious, dark eye of the beast, a quiet, raw moment of connection with a creature that was part rhino, part parrot, and completely ancient.