Pangaea soared just over the treeline of the forest, propelled forward by the nighttime wind. Below him, Screech dashed madly over the forest floor, demonstrating impeccable nimbleness even in the dark, avoiding every log, bush, and tree trunk in his path, hardly ever taking his eyes off the red glider above him.
Pangaea was genuinely impressed by the fast biter’s determination. Of course, that was exactly what worried him. Even in his much larger human form (which he didn’t even know how to shift into, and frankly didn’t want to, not least because he expected it would be more of a hindrance than a help), Pangaea knew that he would be no match for Screech in single combat. The raptor would tear him apart in an instant. His only option was to run (or, preferably, glide) until he could find someone who
was capable of taking on a fast biter in a fight they could win.
It was obvious that members of Screech’s species weren’t called “
fast biters” for nothing. Even on the ground, Screech was quickly catching up to Pangaea. Clearly the wind wasn’t fast enough to keep the glider ahead. Pangaea thought about flapping his wings to give himself extra propulsion, but feared that doing so might upset his aerodynamic stability. In any case, he was dubious that his
Microraptor body was even built for powered flying. Sighing nervously, he wondered if this would be his final flight.
Suddenly a deep, distant roar rang out across the valley. Pangaea's blood instantly ran cold. He had heard that cry many times before, while watching episodes of
The Land Before Time on his computer, but listening to it through a pair of headphones in his home was nothing like hearing it for real. (A moment later he would hear another roaróa low, melancholy soundóthat he was NOT familiar with, and chilled him even further.)
"Uh...hey, Screech!" he called down to the fast biter, "Ain't that your boss? I think he's calling you!"
Screech just snarled and gnashed his teeth at Pangaea. While he had indeed heard Red Claw's call to retreat, he paid it no heed. He had his own agenda now, and that was evening the score with the bizarre-looking gliding creature that had already escaped him twice and humiliated him once. Noting Screech's indifference, Pangaea sighed. Clearly he wasn't getting rid of the fast biter that easily.
“You know, Screech,” he called, “as weird as this sounds, I’m sorry I had to pull that Three Stooges stunt on you! I hope I didn’t do your eyes any permanent damage! Really!”
Screech only roared at him.
“I can’t tell if that was an indication that you don’t understand me, or don’t believe me, but in case it’s the latter, I only did it in defense of my friends! I don’t have anything against you guys being carnivores, but I
do have a problem with you trying to eat dinosaurs I consider friends! Seriously, there’s enough food in the Mysterious Beyond for all the other sharpteeth; why do you have to come here to hunt?!”
Pangaea had a habit of talking to things he knew wouldn’t answer him. He wasn’t sure why he was doing it now, to a creature that, while sentient, could and would kill him in an instant if given the opportunity, and could probably not be reasoned with.
As if to prove him right, Screech leaped into the air, jaws agape and claws extended, missing Pangaea by a few feet.
“I seriously doubt that was an attempt at a forgiving hug,” Pangaea cracked. He smirked despite himself. If he was going to die, he would go down demonstrating his propensity as a wiseguy.
(OOC: I'm still not ready to interact with anyone else.
)
