WSIH^ NORTH AMERICA, 65 MILLION YEARS AGO. The last of the dinosaurs are on the move. They're roaming inland and along the margins of a big, shallow inland sea.
These animals are huge, many more than twenty feet long.
But there are far fewer kinds of them than there were 10
million years before, when the seas were wider and the temperatures milder.
Huge herds of horned dinosaurs and giant duckbills tromp across the land, heading north in summer, south in winter. They munch on ferns and flowering plants. As they go, they're bleating and honking to each other. The noise can be deafening and the smell overpowering. Here and there smaller dome-headed dinosaurs browse, males butting heads in loud collisions. Squat armored dinosaurs, the size of small tanks, lumber about. They're scarfing up low-growing plants. Scurrying about beneath the dinosaurs' feet are our ancestors, insect-munching mammals. The mammals are snacks for nimble, man-sized dinosaurs. Other, bigger dinosaur predators are on the loose, among them a pygmy tyrannosaur. This killer is only fifteen feet long, with quick feet and good eyesight.
But all these animals live in terror of one of the greatest carnivores ever—Tyrannosaurus rex. Suddenly it approaches, rushing in from hiding in the underbrush, carrying its tail high as its thickly muscled legs pump in long, narrow, swift strides. The herds scatter, exposing the young, the old, and the frail, which lag behind. The hunter corners one sickly Tricer-atops, which turns, bucks its head, and flashes its menacing horns at the predator. The killer's huge maw opens, revealing gleaming serrated fangs the size and
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