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

The air in the Cretaceous forest was thick, damp, and smelled of rotting cycads. You have been tracking a large herbivore herd for days, moving through the ferns.

Emerging from the dense undergrowth was a Chasmosaurus. It was a magnificent animal, roughly fifteen feet long, with a body covered in rough, leathery scales that seemed to shift between shades of olive-green and brown. Its head was enormous, nearly a third of its body length. The long, bony frill—its signature feature—spread out like a protective canopy behind its head.

At that moment, the sunlight hit the frill directly, making the skin covering those hollow openings turn a vibrant, startling red.

Just then, it planted its four thick, sturdy legs firmly in the mud and lowered its head. Two small, curved brow horns glinted in the light, but it was the large, pointed nose horn that was aimed directly at you. The animal gave a low, rumbling huff, its beak breaking off a massive chunk of a shrub with ease.