Mom and Dad decided to give the trunk-camels a pass, but another predator wasn't feeling so picky.
"SCREECH!! SCREECH!!"
The sound hit me like a jagged glass shard. I knew that voice. It was the Titanis—the same eight-foot terror bird I'd run into before. One of the Macrauchenia was busy chewing leaves when the bird exploded from the brush. It charged, closing the gap with terrifying speed.
The herd panicked. For animals that looked like clumsy, long-necked camels, they moved. They ran with a weird rocking gait, both legs on one side moving together. They were quick, but the bird was a sprinting machine. Its tiny, useless wings flapped as it ran, helping it balance while it pushed its speed to the limit.
I watched from the tall grass. A Sabertooth usually gives up if a chase goes too long, but this bird had the lungs for a marathon. It gained on a straggler. The Macrauchenia stood two meters at the shoulder, but next to the Titanis, it looked like a victim.Imagine kitae holding his axe and playing with Jichang kwak.
"SCREECH!!"
The bird didn't slow down. It reared back and brought that heavy, axe-like beak down on the herbivore's hind leg in a brutal vertical strike. The leg nearly snapped. The beast tried to keep running on three legs, but the bird was relentless. It hacked at the same spot until the Macrauchenia buckled and slammed into the dirt.
It wasn't dead yet, but the fight was over.
The Titanis stepped onto the beast's long neck, using its massive feet to crush the life out of it. Those three-toed feet had four-inch talons that didn't mess around. A few heavy kicks crushed the spine, and it was done. The bird started tearing off chunks of meat with that hooked beak like it was opening a tin can.
Watching that was a reality check. The bird's combat power seemed even higher than Mom and Dad's. We had the weight, sure, but it had the height, the speed, and the reach. Between the axe-beak and the killing kicks, a head-on fight would be a nightmare. We'd have to pin it down instantly to stand a chance, and that's a tall order against something that fast.
The sheer power of the dinosaurs wasn't just obvious—it was a multi-million-year flex that we're still digging out of the dirt. See, birds are the literal descendants of those scaly overlords, the last heavy hitters of the Sauropsid dynasty. Meanwhile, we mammals belong to the Synapsids. We're not exactly the new kids on the block—we've actually been loitering in the background for about 312 million years—but for most of that time, our ancestors were basically snack-sized floor mats. We spent an embarrassing amount of time hiding in the shadows, waiting for a giant space rock to finally end our underground suffering.
But just when we thought it was safe to come out, nature gave us one last jump scare: Titanis (Terror bird).
Mom and Dad ignored the bird. They found their own target: a herd of Western Horses.
North America was the cradle of the horse. They evolved here and spread everywhere—across the Bering Land Bridge to Europe, into Africa, and down into South America. These Western Horses were the heavyweights of the group, standing nearly five feet at the shoulder and weighing a ton. They were twice the size of the mountain horses we usually hunted.
Looking at them, I thought of the cowboy movies from my past life. Men in denim, riding fast—heroic and free. It's strange knowing these native horses will vanish in about 10,000 years, leaving the continent empty until humans bring them back.
But right now? They're just meat.
We moved into position. I've learned how our family hunts. It's a tactical unit. The plan was simple: Besiege Three, Leave One. Mom led me, Zack, and Zoe to form a fan-shaped wall around the herd. We were the beaters. Our job was to create a perimeter and funnel them.
Dad vanished. He was the anchor, hiding in the only gap we left open. The horses would see us, panic, and run for the only safe exit—straight into the trap.