Mr. Threehorn had been standing off at the fringe of the group, looking unusually quiet and introspective. Against the starlight, the wrinkles and age spots on his body seemed to disappear into the night. He almost looked younger, strangely enough. Had it not been for the heavy panting and the glaze in his eyes, someone might have been mistaken in thinking he wasn't sick.
His eyes rested on his daughter. He tried to give a weak smile.
"Sometimes... I imagine what it would have been like if you had ended up being like all the other threehorn girls, and just stuck to playing 'nest' all day. I imagine I'd have aged a lot better... I'd also have a lot less to look forward to," he said, forcing himself to not to cough as he felt severe inflammation at the back of his throat. He couldn't be any less than a super man in front of his daughter.
He creaked his head to the right to look at the other adults, and this action alone caused all the joints in his neck to pop like boiling water.
"They've been there before," he said simply. "And they know what to look for. We have no other options, no other plans, and no patience to sit around and wait for things to get even worse... What more is there to say? Given the circumstances, these seven are probably the toughest dinosaurs in the Great Valley."
He saw the shimmer in Cera's eye-- the blazing, battle-ready look that reminded him of her mother. He grinned, and in the dark of the night, it was once again the cocky, young grin of a threehorn who had grown up never dreaming of having kids or growing old. "If they want to go, I really don't see how we can stop them."