A bull triceratops stands alone at the feet of a giant redwood tree. He rubs two long, conical horns against the rough bark with quick, strong thrusts of his head. His massive chest heaves as he grunts and snorts, toes digging into the dry earth.
A flash above, so bright that it cuts through the dappled shadows of the undergrowth. Birds cry an alarm in the distance, and a rumble like thunder breaks through the drone of insects. The bull tries to blink out the blindness as he swings his heavy head slowly, like a shield, snuffling the air. Beaked mouth slack to taste the scents around him as he tenses his body, listening.
The rumble doesn’t go away. It’s getting louder.
The triceratops turns away from the tree to face the crashing and rumbling. He tilts his shielded head down and steps back, shaking all three horns against the coming roar. The crash of trees, the shrieks of birds and other panicked creatures. The rush of hot earth. Dry ash. flying debris…