Dynasties

Rivals

He was close.

So very close.

The scent of his prey was everywhere.

The scent of her.

Her scent, mixed within the damp and earth laden musk of the island and the salty mix of the surrounding sea.

The Bull Spinosaurus flexed his clawed hands, talons clenching and unclenching. He was eager. Oh, so very eager. He had not had a challenge in quite some time. Not a proper one, at least.

Sorna's Spinosaurus had been hunting the female Tyrannosaurus for days. Today was the third day upon Isla Nublar. A day filled with powerful wind gusts, unusually cool, that were blowing in from the sea, casting askew the once dominant white and puffy clouds, and bringing in a blanket of grey.

A storm was coming, charging forth along the horizon whilst thunder rumbled in the distance, still out to sea.

He would need to find her, and swiftly, before the coming storm would wash her dominant musk away in the pouring rains.

A deep and guttural grumble ruptured from the Bull's throat, his neck craning to push his snout skyward. His nostrils flared, muscular chest heaving as wisps of white flittered from his nares, testing, checking. He smelled many things: the muddy and thick earthen scent of Isla Nulbar, the heavy, watery odor of the approaching storm, the salt of the lapping sea, the metallic, iron stench of blood-and her.

Yes.

Her.

Her, and the iron scent of crimson.

The Bull's emerald eyes sharped, serpentine pupils now dilated in apprehension. His taloned hands clenched and released, viscous saliva welling within his jowls and dripping lazily onto the lush forested floor. The trees trembled and made way as his greater form forced the forest in his path to bend, great footfalls being left in his wake and molding the earth behind him.

Sorna's apex predator followed the scent upon the winds, the darkness of the forest canopy lessening as the tropical forests reached an end. Emerging from the brush, and onto the edge of a grassy knoll, the Bull saw her.

But most importantly, she saw him.

There she was, tan scales dull from age and ripe with stories of previous battles won, her scars bright and almost vivid compared to her natural earthen hue. Her muscular neck raised her massive head, jaws soaked in crimson and red flesh between her crushing maw. Her amber eyes looked upon him. Locked upon him.

Her fallen prey that she had so previously gorged upon did not exist. The grassy knoll did not exist, nor did the surrounding forests. Nor did the approaching storm.

All that existed was him.

Roberta did not know what he was. Part of her did not truly care. All she knew was that he was here. Here, after dogging her for three days.

Ever since her call was answered.

Roberta's muscular chest expanded, and then lowered as a forceful huff of breath escaped her, wisps of white puffing from her gaping maw with a spray of escaped crimson. Her jaws closed, throat muscles bobbing as the torn chunk of muscle was swallowed whole.

The Queen stepped forth, one leg upon the carcass, and the other, up and over, pressing onto the blood soaked grass. The bones of her prey snapped under the force of her weight whilst she stepped forth, and ushered forth a booming, almost deafening roar in challenge, blood and spittle flying from the force of her call.

It was a challenge that was eagerly answered, for the Bull stepped forth, and a harrowing, shrill, yet thundering call ruptured forth from his gullet. Thick and viscous saliva turned white and caked around his scaled lips, emerald eyes rimmed red as his pace quickened in an approach-almost a charge.