Since I have a dinosaur blog I thought...hey, what the hell, I'll share it!
Now, a couple things. I don't know if the ending is truly the real ending, because I did have something else in mind to tack on to it, which I might do later...one day. You know how it goes. But, it's cute, and I thought I'd share it for pure shiggles.
I was actually inspired to write this story after seeing a picture, which I'll post above the short story. It's mostly just a cute, fluffy piece, because I thought the picture was so damn cute.
Anyway, here you go.
Shade of tall trees were welcome in the late afternoon heat. The old warrior had had her fill from the hadrosaur she had hunted down an hour prior, and a nap was a perfect way to let her food digest. She didn’t worry about much in her old age, having made it through the trials of climbing to the very top of the food chain. In the humid shade of the ancient maple tree, the tyrannosaur let herself shut her eyes and rest.
She spent her days alone now, having outlived her mate of many years, raising many children together in the parels of the wild. Being as big as she was, she didn’t mind being alone in her territory this time of year. The only thing she ever had to worry about was the spry males who would view her as a threat, since she was well past the age of wanting to hatch any more young. Every so often she had to fight them off, keep her area clean of other tyrannosaurs. This was her area, and hers alone, and she was too old and stubborn to put up with much riff-raff.
Her age had dulled her once glossy orange feathers that covered her shoulder blades to the base of her tail, the gleam dull but not completely lost. Black feathers colored her tail and snout except for white markings that ran down her eyes like stipped tears, dripping down under her chin. Unlike the much smaller raptor creatures who had long bird-like feathers on their arms, the warrior’s feathers were short and fuzzy, covering her whole body like down.
Food was hardly scarce for such a well travelled and sharp hunter, knowing the seasons and migration patterns of her food. It was mid summer, just past the hatching season for the triceratops and hadrosaurs in the area, which meant the creatures were on high alert and careful. The old warrior knew to tread carefully, and watch for mistakes. They always made mistakes.
The hot air buzzed with dragonflies and bees, the low murmur of the distant herds drifted through the wind along with the smells that were much more powerful. Her nose flared quietly as she rested, drinking it all in during a drowsy haze. Her old bones were very thankful for the rest, for the shade, for the peaceful afternoon breeze.
Clumsy footfalls awoke her from her nap, small, tiny, little bitty feet stepping on dirt under the tree where she hogged the shade. It was so small, the old tyrannosaur almost didn’t even hear it, almost didn’t smell it. Sharp yellow eyes opened to see the tiny intruder, a fresh triceratops hatchling, not even the size of a healthy bite, was plodding over to the once slumbering tyrant.
The old warrior watched this tiny creature lazily, it barely even worth noting because of how small it was and how full she was from the earlier meal. Its skull frill, normally the crown of the species glory, was small and dull. Unlike its parents, the tiny thing didn’t even have the horns that made them so dangerous, even to the old warrior who wasn’t afraid of much.
This tiny thing came and sat by the creature it should fear most above all other threats, one of its species mortal enemy and most hated foe. Clearly it was too young to have known better, such a fresh little hatchling that it was vulnerable to the naivety of wonderment. The old warrior didn’t mind or really care, the tiny creature almost as significant as the bees that buzzed past her.
So in the shade they stayed. The tiny crowned prince and the old warrior sitting in the cool oasis of the maple tree, napping on and off through the heat of the day. Hours stretched past, the air cooling slightly as the sun sank lower in the sky. It was time to eat again, though the meal didn’t have to be as big this time around. She would go for something small and easy this evening, perhaps an adolescent.
Getting to her feet, the massive two-legged hunter shook the sleep from her body, stretching tall and smelling the air. The herds would be making their way to the water soon, and she knew the perfect path for an ambush. Stepping from the shade, the tyrant’s slow, steady footsteps were echoed by much smaller, faster ones. The tiny prince was following, as best he can, with the giant female’s sprawling steps. Tiny little feet raced after her as she made her way towards the water where dinner was waiting.
Stealth was not something that tyrannosaurs are prone for, especially not at the size of a full grown, old adult. There was no way someone as big as she was could possibly have the element of surprise like a raptor could, she she had to be smarter than that. She knew her pray, knew how prone to chaos and panic they could be when faced with danger. Also how dangerous they could act in defense.
They always make mistakes.
A broad river ran through the area, the main source of fresh water for multiple herds of different creatures. Hadrosaurs and triceratops were the most common in her territory and the most numerous, with specks of smaller theropods of the herbivore variety. The giant horned and crested beasts lined the river edge drinking, ever cautious of the predators that lurked close by on land and submerged below. Even the warrior knew better than to ignore the deinosuchus that claimed the water as its kingdom.
Thick scents of the buffet that lined the river carried heavy in the warm air, and the old warrior made sure to stand down wind. She didn’t need her cover blown just yet. She needed to scope out the best targets, the best angle to cause the wave of terror that would bring her dinner crashing to the ground. The triceratops herd was more towards the mouth of the river, further away from the old tyrant's position, which was ideal in this case. The last thing she wanted was to face off against them for a snack.
Her goal tonight was the smaller orodromeus that dotted the river line, squeezing in between the other massive beasts. They were fast but she knew the surrounding brutes would trip the swift creature up in the confusion. The timing was almost right.
Plod, plod, plod, the little feet were catching up to the old warrior now. Its tiny little feet were not making much noise, not enough for any concern. She looked back and down, the small tag-along galloping around her feet in play. Up and over her big clawed toes, the baby prince pushed his blunt nub horns into her thick scaly feet, mocking how the adults ram and fight. Gently she moved her foot away, careful not to step on it like she had when her own young were that size. Old mother habits taking control of her movements for the moment.
The tiny body against her feet woke up memories of what seemed like a lifetime past, of old hatchlings now adults and long since gone from her. The old warrior had a purpose again, even if this wasn’t exactly the same, it still felt familiar. She had raised so many little ones that the pattern of motherhood came easily to the old tyrant. Now this little horned beast was her shadow and her company until it was safe for him to leave her side.
She knew the tiny thing wasn’t going to keep up with her during the attack, but she knew for the fact it was going to follow her into the fray. This was going to change the route, make it less likely he can catch up too quickly, get stomped in the chaos. Old motherly concern corrected the pathway, taking the little prince’s safety into consideration. Instead of rounding past the trees, she was going to have to go through them, which would cause much more noise but slow the tiny shadow down.
It was time to move.
Pushing through the tall, skinny trees, the massive beast crashed through the other side with a low, thundering roar. As expected, the herds were already in motion by the time she had cleared the forest, waves of fear filling the air in sound and scent. The ancient croc had taking advantage of this as well, leaping up from the water and snagging a grown hadrosaur by the face, dragging it screaming and kicking into the water. This sent the herd wildly in different directions, clearing the path for bull triceratops to plant their ground.
If she didn’t find a kill right away, the bulls or cows would charge and fight, the mewing of their new babies causing their parental instincts into full force. Swift, bouncing orodromeus whizzed by the lumbering creatures that screamed in panic. Their sleek, small frames were lightweight on their two feet, tails rigid for balance and long necks absorbing the shock to keep their vision straight and focused. The little herbivores were feathery and lithe, and a perfect mouthful for an evening snack.
Old tyrant stomped towards them, gazing over the mass hysteria for the weak and fallen, for the juveniles that didn’t know how to keep up, for the clumsy to trip. The noise of the stampede and roars of the frightened beasts filled the humid air like a symphony of madness, thundering through the ground and wind.
Just as expected, the swift little theropods were fast but not immune to errors, and one found itself on the underside of a rampaging hadrosaur that was much, much bigger than the little beast. With a scream of agony, the orodromeus rolled under the powerful hind legs of the stampeding creature, snapping one of its legs like a frail twig. The old warrior had its meal.
Snorts of angry ceratopsians blurted and huffed, the herd surrounding their precious little ones behind a wall of muscle and horns a couple yards away. They watched with heads bobbing in warning as the giant old warrior made its way to the fallen flailing therapod. The dark brown little orodromeus tried in vain to stand and run, tripping over its painfully broken leg and sliding across the ground. After a few good steps, the old tyrant was on it easily, chomping down on its little body, silencing the screams.
The old warrior made a point to take the now limp meal into its mouth, carrying it further away from the heated and angry wall of horns and frills. She didn’t need that trouble, just her snack and some peace. It took a while for the wall to move away, for the screams and scents of the herds to fade into the distance, leaving dust and lingering smells of panic in their wake. Deinonychus had finished its meal as well and was now basking in the fading sun, eyes shut and relaxing on the opposite side of the shore.
The old tyrant ate her snack in bites, not rushed, enjoying herself. The sounds of the little plods caught her attention as the little prince finally made it out to her. The screams and panic of the event had kept him further back, but now it was just them and he felt safe again...despite the half dismembered body of the orodromeus laying at the tyrannosaur’s feet.
Normally this would be the time that the old mother would share her food with her young, tearing off smaller chunks for it with her powerful jaws for them to devore. This little one had no interest in the wonderful snack she had secured for them, him instead wandering over to the low growing ferns by the water edge. The mother scanned the area, making sure the massive croc was still sunbathing, before letting the tiny thing munch away on the wide, fat leaves.
At least this little prince was easy to feed and knew what to eat, unlike her babies in the past. Her past sons and daughters munched on anything that moved, often chasing down things that were meant to be messed with. Though the little thing was very different than her own brood, all tiny things seemed more interested in play than eating, and proceeded to gallop around in joy as his new giant tyrant mother ate her food.
Nighttime in the cretaceous forest was loud with life. Chirping, croaking, singing and swooning echoed through the warm night. Normally the tyrannosaur would prowl through the night until she got hungry enough to eat again, but age had made her sleep more often than she had before. After most meals, the giant would find a good place to settle down for a good nap. That night the moon was full, hanging high and bright, spilling blue light over the breathing forest. She lowered herself down to the ground, her hind legs close to her body while her small arms tucked up under her massive chest.
A contestant ball of energy, the tiny little prince mewed and bounced around, being careful not to stray too far from his new protector. He pushed his head into her feather side and chest, practicing his skills of combat for the future. He was rather terrible at it. His greatest foe at the moment was gravity and his own feet.
She didn’t mind it, his head butts into her body barely felt and not enough to break her from her napping. Every so often she would open her eyes and check on him, or push him a little with her nose, to give him a sense he was putting up a good fight.
After some time, his energy wore out, and she found him curled up against her chest under her chin, and she decided to sleep a little longer tonight.
