The Journey of Bloodface
Its face and frill like a portrait made of knives, skin, and blood, the ceratopsian flushed crimson through its head the moment it emerged from the bush and onto an unfamiliar riverbank. Alone and lost, it snapped its beak and grumbled in octaves lower than most animals could hear, hoping a friendly creature was near. The only sound to answer this powerful male, however, was the rustling of tree leaves in the wind, the light surge of water in the river nearby, and the continual dissonance of small forest life.
With a shake of its mighty head, he thumped down to the water and took a long, cautious glance about; spring had come and the pollen of very distant flowers made it hard to smell much of anything, so he had to rely on his eyes to spot trouble. Nothing presented itself immediately, and he bowed his head to take in a long, much-needed drink from the cool, clear stream. Above the forest canopy, a pair of pterosaurs on gigantic membranes silently glided past, while downstream a few h