11130 Million Years Ago, ChinaThe sun was lower in the sky when Grip the dog-thing trudged home, but the wind was still blisteringly hot. Wilted ferns slumped along his rough, dusty path. The usual riot of bugs in the air had calmed to a lazy trickle. The usual cacophony of wailing, shrieking, singing, whistling cries from the forest all around had dropped off to the sluggish croak of a few fading voices. Even the flurry of wild scents always swirling in the air had thinned to a dry, smoky haze. The heat was too much for the lush forest and its countless plant and animal denizens.
After a few more staggering steps through the crackling brush, Grip let go of the dead dinosaur's leg. He hunched for a moment, panting for breath in the heat, the salty, metallic taste of the dino's blood
