antediluvianechoes: Prenocephale, Brian Franczak The sky was made of layers. The sun’s last ra
antediluvianechoes: Prenocephale, Brian Franczak The sky was made of layers. The sun’s last rays teased reds from the clouds, then faded into a pale yellow along the horizon. Tomorrow would be pleasant. There were no almanac rhymes to portent a calm day after a red evening, but Prenocephale could smell the lack of rain, feel the gentleness of the air, as though a stillness had settled over the shrubland, nestled itself under every leaf, and breathed between the cricket sounds. The dinosaur’s feet padded softly against the sandy floor of the clearing. The insects stopped mid-song and sprang into shadows when she trotted near. Once hidden, they began chirping again, a steady see-sawing of notes that, if it involved any variation, only their ears noticed. Prenocephale usually kept to the uplands. Like the crickets, she preferred the security of foliage to the unknowns of open spaces, but something had pulled her out to where the desert met the green. Maybe a strange sound, maybe flight from a predator, maybe a tantalizing odor. The animal no longer knew. There was an immediacy to life in her mind; past and future were just the edges of Now, neither remembered nor planned. The plants were tougher here; if they produced fruit, the dinosaur could not find any. Trees were sparse, and without their tangle of branches and leaves to obstruct the it, the sky opened into a great dome of color and light that slid in a space both infinitely far and immediately near. It did not feel like shelter, yet it covered everything. It made the dinosaur uncomfortable. Prenocephale paused, looking for darkness where she could hide, searching for deep shadows on the edges of the clearing. The black silhouette of a dozen trees beckoned to her left, and the animal trotted there, merging with weeds and bushes, her claustrophilia satisfied. -- source link
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