Hello! The name's Quibble. She/her. Just an artist doing artist things. I also write stuff!
I absolutely adore world building and character concepts/building characters. I go way too in depth and I am a nerd about too much stuff because of it.
If you ever want to yap about characters or plot ideas I do not mind at all. I love an excuse to ramble or go down rabbit holes
As of right now l'm drawing a lot of robots
My requests are open!
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Some handy dandy links that desperately need updating:
My sister guesses transformer names
My OC’s
Just a warning I make aus with my ocs cause I’m actually insane
Character playlists!!- master post
Little written chapter things for them
Dropmix trials
“World building” -this has writing and drawings. Some of the writing does involve actual lore
Perfect world AU (wanna break from the ads angst???)
Horns and Razors AU- we’re putting the angst back in
Yall, today was not the day to be welding a trailer together.
Imma get heatstroke at this rate. Curse me and my osha certified boss who insists I wear ALL of the safety equipment. I mean thank you for caring but I am dying in this cotton shirt.
Kay so I was wondering about how big game hunters would work? Is it a thing? (not the causal "imma feed my six kids" hunting) Like lets say there is a band (because I assume one person taking down big lizards would at least need more than one other person to keep scavengers off while work was being done on the carcass) who goes after dinos that aren't bred for meat or tamed? Like specialty hunts for more wild or dangerous herds for materials/meat/resources or maybe trophies? Like horns or crests, but y'know they hunt the things people would never want in their yard. So its easier to send people out, like trappers and things.
Are there laws associated with this type of thing? Like seasons or zones where certain species are protected (even if they are sought after for their horns or something) Is there a guild for this sort of work or is it a family business type of deal that is just regulated so nothing is over hunted?
What sorts of species would fall into the category where people would want them but would rather commission a band to go get them instead of doing it themselves? (like dude imagine them hunting pterosaurs?? Those big flying birbs???)
Would big game bands work with Saurboys if they have some big issues and have some time to plan?
Im yapping so much I'm sorry, its just such a fun thought. Because I know this is all very Wild West inspired so maybe the laws are very loose? Bleh sorry I'll hush now, I'm just super curious. If none of this makes sense I'm sorry-
Okay, yeah, this is a very fun question that I’ve thought about a few times but never really come to a conclusion. So… I guess that’s what I’m doing today. And imma just walk you through the process of it.
This is also a mess so I apologize.
So, large game hunters are definitely a thing. Both out of necessity and for sport, although hunting for sport is a bit more uncommon due to the risks of hunting wild dinosaurs and some religious lore. It’s a bit controversial at times. And since it’s not particularly popular or common in the west there aren’t a lot of universal hunting rules.
A lot of the laws and hunting seasons are enforced by the territory specific rules since the fauna changes depending on what area you’re in and how common food is. For example, in a biome like a desert or dry lands there are likely going to be more regulations on hunting because those wild herds are a bit more scarce than others, or it’s just migrating herds.
Why does this matter? Well, the best way to keep wild large predators from eating your herd is to make sure the wild herds they naturally prey on still exist.
Kinda like how with deforestation more jaguars and large cats have started eating people and their livestock because the natural prey animals are dying out due to lack of vegetation and space. The predators are going int civilization to find food. And in the Wild West with dinosaurs you don’t want that.
Another thing to consider with large game is if they could actually kill it with what technology they have. You could kill Hippos in the 1860’s but they were formidable targets due to their thick skin (4 inches thick and I hate hippos) this meant you had to have access to powerful firearms. Which meant money. A lot of large animal gaming would be for the wealthy or for creeds of people who work for the upper class.
This also limits what kinds of dinosaurs they could hunt. Anything with a thick enough hide would be off the table. It also keeps us from hunting anything too large without reason. Like Sauropods. Most large ones at least. No real easy way to kill them and they don’t have any kind of prize. Other than way too much meat and attracting a bunch of large predators like tyrants who were not above opportunity feeding and will fight you for it. Which is another issue with large game hunting, dealing with the predators.
So… If I’m honest, the most common or popular large anima game that I could see being hunted for prizes is kinds of Hardosauridae. Parasauropholus, Olorotitan, Lambeosaurus, etc. They are huge, so there is sport in that, they lived in dense forests and swamps, so there are plenty of other prey animals around, and they had those large crests for prizes.
The issue is some of those suckers could fuck you up. So once again, niche.
I’m rambling. Sorry. I have no clue if this is making any sense or is coherent. Or if I’m answering your questions.
Would saurboys help? Yeah, probably, they are experts of the wilds and would be useful to have around. As for if there are specific creeds or guilds for hunting? There are probably companies or groups of rangers/hunters/trappers that hunt large animals.
I think I answered all of the questions in a way that mostly makes sense??? If not just tell me and I can try again.
No idea if this is within Dino guidelines but we got one! The world belongs to @quibble-auk and I just own the characters! If any of this feels off I can so go in and change it! Just feeling things out. Sorry if this is crappy, or y'know...Not great. Haven't written in a while.
But yeh!
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It was deep.
That sound of the sky and her voice.
Sarah held in her giggles as the winds rumbled and cooed along the heavy stones, the trees swaying in long groans. Music of the greenery, of the earth. That’s what her great grandmother said anyway, it was Freyda’s low throated humming that swept the forest. Sarah herself never wanted to take much stock in such whispers by the glowing coals, squatting by her aged elder and listening intently. It was better than laying in the dark, or trying to sleep while Freyda seemingly hummed.
Which to Sarah felt more like screaming as the storms flew by.
But, the idea of something so large being able to make such a racket from humming. Well, that was unnerving. Like so many things were to the young girl. Even now as she lightheartedly bounced over a log, dwelling on the thought spooked her.
So she instead called out, “Kaleb! Kaleeeee??” Sing songy and wild haired she rapidly flicked her eyes along the trees, having to crawl over her next wooden obstacle instead of jumping. She perched on top of the bark and held her hands out from her sides, mimicking a flier as she almost lost her balance. The girl hummed, biting her lip as she felt herself wilt. Grey stormy eyes almost turning to worry when no call answered her.
Another soft hum.
“Kale..?”
Her grandfather’s words echoed in the back of her mind, his scruffy streaked beard scratching her face as she was warned to never wander too far alone.
What if Kaleb hadn’t stormed off this way? Sarah suddenly felt small, a bob in her throat as she tucked her arms closer. She had seen her uncles shoot down large beasts that could just-
“You know there could be a snake under there, right?”
She yelped and promptly fell off the log, glancing under her once perch and scrambling back. A good sized hole was nestled under there- “C’mon Yoti seriously? You that fucking jumpy?” Wincing at the curse and now dirty from her fall Sarah shyly glanced up. Her cousin had stood to her right, now in a firm even stride across the fallen log. His not yet broad shoulders back, and frown firm as he scowled down at her. “What are you even doing out here? Poppa is gonna skin you for wandering out by yourself.”
His face set in that scowl, and hands now resting on the loops of his pants.
Sarah hummed weakly, before smiling a soft sweet smile. “I’m not by myself, you’re out here.” Her cousin blinked for a moment at that, opening his mouth before closing it again. Something swam there in his eyes, something Sarah knew meant that Kaleb wasn’t actually mad. He wasn’t actually angry when his cheeks were still so shiny, his voice wavering. She took that moment to try and stand, still happily smiling at her much larger cousin. The mud, due to the recent storms that had the girl scared stiff, however felt no need to release her. Not fully. She slipped and landed with a wet splat, Kaleb finally looking at her again. Eyebrows shooting up, “Oh hey hold on!” Finally, he hopped off the log to tend to the small girl, helping her up and ignoring the mud on her fingers as he squatted down to her level.
“Damn honey, you got mud all over.” Sarah huffed and flicked her eyes down her skirt and promptly ignored it. Kaleb however did not, his eyebrows knitting together as the young girl wrapped an arm around his neck with a sweet giggle. “ It’s ok. I found you, that’s all that matters.” She chirped it as she snuggled close, Kaleb smelling of gunpowder and sweat. But she couldn’t care, not when one of his strong arms wrapped around her lean frame and he pressed into the hug. It always felt good to hug Kaleb, he made everything feel less scary. So for Sarah that felt like the only right thing to give him, especially when his eyes are so red rimmed and hair all knotted from him probably running his scarred fingers through it.
Sarah could maybe…Make things less scary.
Kaleb, at the grown up age of fourteen sniffed as he cuddled his eight year old cousin. Pressing his sharp nose into her sun bleached curls and gulping. They sat that way for a moment, the two of them. Sarah the usually meek minnow in Kaleb’s raging uproar of rapids. She patted his back with a small and already calloused hand, which made the boy who felt like he should already be a man clear his throat. “Ok pipsqueak c’mon, we gotta get you washed off before Gran sees you and pitches a whole nine yard,” he scooped her up very close to roughly as he stood, making the little girl gasp, “ever loving fit.”
Sarah blinked and glanced down at her dress, a calico thing that’s barely too short for her. She had hit a growth spurt recently, something she was rather proud of. Biting her lip with a new anxiety she glanced at the boy. His earlier mood starting to flee her mind, his tearful stomp away from their Poppa. The angry embarrassed flush of his cheeks when him and the hunting party got back. “....You think she’ll…Be that mad?” Kaleb smiled his mean smile, which made Sarah rub at the dirt on her sleeve as her nerves spiked. “Oh yeah, teeth breaking horsewhipping mad.” Suddenly the dirt looked worse, darker and uglier, and Kaleb was being mean.
Tears burned the young girl’s eyes as she bit her lip, and then the boy quickly back tracked. His eyes widening and a curt sort of guilt tugged his mouth into a frown. “Hey! No cryin! Shoot Yoti, gotta be such a worrywort all the damn time.” He adjusted his grip and began to walk, carrying the girl who turned on a dime and bared her teeth. She slapped his shoulder and sniffed, “I aint no worrywort! I don’t wanna be horsewhipped!” Her anger, much to Kaleb’s dismay, quickly melted into worried whines and a break to the last word. “No- Aw Yoti. I was messing with ya. We’ll go down to the creek bed, it should still be running a little. Get your dress scrubbed a little, yeah?” She glanced up, eyes still glassy but now intrigued. He smiled a wide smile, not his mean spirited grin but a real gentle one. That was the one he wore when he let Sarah sit in his lap when they rode their duckbill. That smile that he let slip when Sarah kissed his cheek and told him he looked handsome in his new hat.
It was the best smile. So Sarah smiled back, Kaleb’s rough thumb catching any stray tears like he didn’t even want them in his sight. Didn’t want the memory to linger more than necessary, that he made the little girl, the only one who is never really mad at him, cry.
“Yeah! You could puddle around a little, get home quick as a raptor before Gran even knows what bit ‘er!” Soft giggles slipped from the girl as Kaleb bopped their heads, his red hair hanging in her face.
Quick as a raptor, she couldn’t argue. Not when Kaleb was so happy, not when he was so right all the time.
Your like “idk if this is right or any good” in the kindest way my dear friend. Shut up. Shhhhhhh. This is perfect in every way. I love it. I giggled so much. While dreading. But it was so good.
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Onto real feedback though, or at least my attempt at it.
GIRL. I love Yoti. And the introduction???? Oh my gosh you described everything so well. And you never infodumped or anything, just implied that there have been storms before directly addressing it. And the words just…. They were crunchy. That’s what I’m going with because I can’t think of a better way to say that.
And Yoti, dear sweet Sarah. I love her. She’s jus a little gal. The maternal instinct is kicking in this is not good. She’s just a baby doing her best. Absolutely no real thought coming from her skull. She doesn’t think through things she just did them, which is so true for any child.
Let’s go in the woods in search of our cousin. And it’s after you get there that you remember that bad things happen in the woods.
She’s so cute for all of this, and how you write her thought process is amazing, especially with Kaleb. Which-
Is it just me or are there some red flags with this guy. Idk what it is. I do not trust him. At all. He’s giving me an ick. I genuinely wish I could explain why but I can’t. There is something about him that’s just off.
He will definitely be an interesting character to explore. I’m so excited to see what he is. Because I have half an idea but I think I may be wrong. Idk.
One again, this is amazing and I’m still on the high that someone wrote something in my silly world and ughhhhhhh I wanna shake you.
Today I found a wolf spider inside and got to escort her back outside, and my goodness is she a beauty. So I had to share with everyone. She decided to stick around for a photo and let you all appreciate how pretty she is.
Lots of spiders use their fangs to grip onto surfaces to feel more secure. Usually you don’t notice because they are small, but she’s big enough that I was able to see her fangs!
Don’t worry, it’s not a real bite so no venom or pain, it’s pretty gentle and I hardly felt it, and she stopped when I finally settled in the grass and stopped moving as much.
Then I have some baby snakes I found while leveling a shed! And a toad
The second one refused to stay still for a picture and my camera was being weird so they kinda suck… sorry.
OC album cover thing for one of my favorite outlaws.
I had so much fun with this but I also wanted to strangle someone the whole time. I kinda gave up with the background and colors. And…yeah. Not sure if I love it or not.
I hate up at the end and I don’t have a triangle stamp so I didn’t make the whole skip music button things.
I have the uncolored version of it below!
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So yeah, this song makes me think of him so much. It’s his little anthem.
Finally did a normal and not overly stylized piece for Yoti! With her lovely boy Skyscraper. Because he scrapes....The sky....He's inspired by an old hen I had who was probably the most curious and affectionate bird I'd ever met. Very smart for some reason? But yeah, Yoti gets a dino chicken who she loves very much even if he is one of the most annoyingly clingy animals she has ever met.
She has holes in her coats from him just latching on. Its problem.
Very smug Altmuehlopterus. (Mouthful of a name for such a cute guy)
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She is an oc (revamped but shhh) that I am shoehorning into my wonderful mutual's original project!!!! @quibble-auk has some amazing westerns with dinosaurs over on her blog, thoroughly recommend looking into it. Shes very talented.
Below the cut is the version without all my overdone lighting :D
Just add the audio for this. I’m just screaming. This is perfect. Absolute peak. I just….
GIRL WHEN I GET YOU.
That is a threat.
Not only are the colors wonderful and the lineart amazing but you added a pattern to her clothes?!!?!??!?! Like sorry, I’ve avoided that like a plague because that’s hard with wrinkles and how things fit and you just… you make it look so easy. And her outfit is so cute. Very western.
The proportion and poses are perfect. Words are failing me. I want to eat this. I’m stealing and adding it to my hoard. It’s actually so surreal that someone has an oc in this universe that I made forever ago. It feels like… I don’t know the words for it.
She looks so swanky.
AND SKYSCRAPER!!!!!! The boy! Look at him!!!! His colors are so fun my goodness. I love it. I wanna shake you. He looks so friendly and yet at the same time I have no doubt in my mind that he would lick inside your ear any time you aren’t paying him enough attention.
Also the shading and bricks look fine, Josh yourself.
This time I’m yapping about Roland, Old Rolly… but he’s baby. Young, spry version of himself that has yet to be traumatized by life yet. For the most part anyways.
You wanna know what the working title for this is? Frosty dinos. That’s the document name. I’ve never made something more creative for it. But if is introducing a separate “book” that focuses on stories in The Sorrowful Mountain range.
@thebrokenmechanicalpencil- now you can know what Yoti is dealing with. Even if… yeah I don’t know if you really see a lot of Roland’s personality shine through in this. But he’s also not really interacting with a bunch of people. Idk.
I’m not spell checking this or anything. Maybe in the future. I’m done.
And now for our favorite thing ever. A silly summary
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Roland: bah humbug
The mountains: and I took that personally.
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Warnings!
Gore, violence, death, madness, insanity, hallucinations, major character injury.
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White.
As far as the eye could see.
Over every mountaintop, blanketing every surface. Even the sky seemed to be caught in this ethereal void, the flurries of snow shrouding the everlasting night in a foggy haze.
Roland tucked his thick coat closer around himself, the dense furs encasing his body in a tender, warm embrace; the only barrier between himself and the brutal world around him. The young man shivered as a flake of snow made it past the cloth and furs, landing directly on his cool cheek. His warm puffs of air escaped his chest in the form of white clouds—
White. White. White.
It was enough to drive a man mad.
Roland knew that he would not be the first to succumb to it, nor would he be the last.
The man shuddered, a frosty finger running down his spine as he blinked—and blinked and blinked and blinked. Was there nothing to clear this endless blankness from his eyes? He searched the wintery abyss around him. The faint silhouettes of trees stood as broken and crooked sentries along the trail, cruel, twisted things that seemed to shift shapes with the frigid wind.
The Sorrowful Mountains, the last home of the Great Beasts. It was a divine and glorious place, filled with terrible, awful things.
It had swallowed countless men into its labyrinth of cliffs and dense woodland.
Yet, here Roland was, wandering aimlessly through the forbidden landscape, alone. For the most part anyways. He kept no human company.
He had his mount and the herd, that was all the living creatures—that the young man was aware of—that traveled with him through Levana Passing Trail.
Roland lifted his head, eyes carefully scanning the world around him in hopes of seeing some kind of landmark. Anything to prove where he was, to know how much further he must go. He was met with nothing but the familiar gray night and snow covered abyss.
It was easy to let the mind wander, especially after so long in the white.
White. White.
If he were to wander off course in these towering peaks, what fate would await him?
That was the most frequent question as of late.
Roland tilted his head—the wind threatening to blow his hood down if it hadn’t been fastened—glancing at the side of the trail where a cliff face could be waiting, disguised in the camouflage of snow. For all he knew, he was walking an arms length from his death, an avalanche or a slight slip on rocks or ice could send himself and his mount over the edge.
He would fall to his death. Or survive the descent and lay helplessly on the rocks and ice below in agony until Freyda decided it was time to end his suffering. If it was from an avalanche he would drown in the same endless white—
White.
All around him. All consuming. Endless.
Roland shuddered again, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the ever creeping lure of madness.
Still, his mind wandered. It always did. There was nothing else he could do.
Sometimes he would find shapes in the vague impression of a tree line. Human figures that were stretched too tall, stalking him with twisted faces and long, sharp hands. Roland would hear their whispers catch on the wind, blink, and they would vanish. Other times the figures were Great Beasts, watching his death march through the snow with a remorseless gaze.
Perhaps, Roland wouldn’t fall. Instead he would get eaten by these ghost-like predators that wandered the land. He would be torn limb from limb by some savage beast on a rampage of vengeance or out of sheer desperation.
Would that be how he would meet the same fate as the hundreds that the mountains had already claimed? Would he join them in their resting place, cushioned by the snow as the earth reaped them of their nutrients, feeding the forbidding land.
Roland blinked, ducking his head back down into the warm furs around his neck. He sucked in a deep, stinging breath as the great creature below him bellowed, a long, hollow call that made Roland’s whole body vibrate with the scale of it—echoing through the landscape, a haunting song that made his skin crawl.
“I know, Amy, I know,” the young man whispered, his voice hoarse, hardly carrying over the wind. He cautiously leaned forward, patting the gentle giants neck. “I hear ya.”
Together, they moved at a slow and steady pace, the footsteps of the beast were the only sound that disturbed the brittle rattling of branches and empty howling winds around them.
Despite the simple words, the creature—Amy— paid him little mind, her gaze fixed ahead and away from him, glued on the empty abyss that surrounded them. She wandered with no hesitation through the unrecognizable landscape, her pace never wavering or shifting. She simply lumbered forward.
Step after step.
Amy was a noble creature. A large herbivorous dinosaur with such an unreasonably complicated name that Roland could never seem to say right. Ugrunaaluk. A truly ridiculous name, so much so that they hadn’t even been able to come up with a decent abbreviated version of it.
The duck-bill was the only tether to reality that Roland had, her steps the only indication of the passage of time, her silhouette the only clear thing in the abyss of snow around him. In every sense, Roland was dependent on Amy. She was the one who knew how to navigate the pass—following an ancient, engraved map in her mind—she was the one who kept him sane and alive. For the most part at least.
That didn’t change the fact that he was entirely useless out here.
Even in her nearly blind state, Amy knew every slope and every cliff, she had a natural compass that pointed her in the right direction. She knew where to stop to find water, and safe places to rest. She belonged to these mountains, their ice ran within her veins and the whipping wind called her home.
Roland on the other hand, did not belong here. And the mountains knew it.
They hated him for it.
The man lifted his gaze up for another moment, just in time to see Amy shake her head passively, causing the pile of snow that had built up on it to crumble away.
Amy was Roland’s savior—without her he would have wandered off the side of a cliff ages ago—but she was just as much his tormentor. And every second he spent strapped to her back was a cruel reminder of how little control Roland actually possessed.
The same bitter, slithering thing that had made a home in his chest tightened around his ribs. It was a boiling, angry part of him, the only thing that had kept him warm in the eternal void. His sister would tell him to be more grateful for his savior, at the beginning of the grueling march, Roland was.
Step after step.
White. White. White.
Maybe Roland had frozen to death ages ago and this was the eternal hell Freyda condemned all the poor human souls to when they trespassed. An endless, mind numbing wandering through a blank abyss with no sign of an end.
No, he was alive. He had to be. If he died the people of the Hidden Valley would starve. Death wasn’t an option no matter how tempting it may be.
The Saurboy laughed—a hollow, beaten chuckle that carried over the frigid air and echoed in the mountainside, a whole chorus of laughter to mock him. Roland rubbed his gloved hands together to fight the ache in his knuckles that had become a permanent fixture, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of being watched.
He lifted his gaze once more, his eyes instinctively darting around to scan the never changing environment with a rising sense of sick irony.
White.
The young man didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t want to invite the mountain spirits to mock him again.
Roland yelled.
The sound tore from his throat, raw and furious, a desperate challenge flung into the face of the unending blizzard. It shattered the oppressive silence of the pass, ringing out across the jagged cliffs before being swallowed whole by the heavy, falling snow.
For a second, the echo bounced back to him, distorted by the wind, sounding less like his own voice and more like a chorus of answering screams from the peaks above.
The Saurboy’s sudden shouting did earn a reaction from one of the herd members that skittering quietly below Amy. A bleating honk that cut through the crisp air and caused a chain reaction among the herd. Another honk, then a few huffs and sighs, one of them grumbled, before a female made a high pitched almost siren-like call that brought the herd back into the familiar silence.
They were Alaskacephale. A kind of stone head—or a member of the pachycephalosaurid family if you wanted to be technical about it. The small herbivores offered little company aside from their occasional calls, which were quickly silenced so the herd could return to being unnoticed in the barren landscape.
At least they were smart enough to know how to avoid attracting predators.
Amy, on the other hand, didn't stop—she only stopped when she deemed it time to make camp and rest—but she did give a low, rumbling huff, her massive head swinging slightly to the side as if to chide him for wasting his breath. The steady, rhythmic thud of her heavy feet continued to tread through the deep snowdrifts, a relentless metronome in the void.
“I’m fine,” Roland muttered, his chest heaving as the cold air rushed into his lungs like swallowed glass. He pulled his thick scarf back up over his mouth from where it had fallen, the fabric already damp and freezing from his breath.
The silence that followed the Saurboy’s outburst was heavier than before, pressing down on his shoulders like a physical weight. The mountains hadn't answered his challenge. They had simply absorbed it, indifferent to his fury, just as they were indifferent to his survival.
Roland forced his fingers to uncurl from the leather reins again, shaking his hands to coax the blood back into his numb fingertips. Spite was a good fuel—it burned hot and fast—but it didn't keep the frostbite away.
He tucked his hands into his armpits, the thick layers of leather, wool, and dense furs tugging uncomfortably across his chest at the movement, stiff with frost.
“I just… I don’t get it, Amy,” he continued, his hoarse voice choked. Roland ducked his head down into his hood and scarf, his shoulders hunching into the central heat of his body mass. He doubted the duck-bill could hear him over the wind, but it was nice to talk. It reminded him that he could make sound, that he had language and was something other than cooling meat.
“I mean, what’s the point? They could have chosen anywhere—literally anywhere else—and they chose The Freyda forsaken Sorrows!” The Saurboy exclaimed, an Alaskacephale grumbled back at him from below Amy, as if they agreed. “Why? Why of all places?”
Roland knew why. Guided by Freyda herself, that’s why, that’s what the administrator had told him. It was some ancient and holy pilgrimage that led to people settling in a place like the Hidden Valley. It was just a stupid, fantastical reason that, frankly—in his humble opinion—made no sense and was an awful excuse
If Levana Rushmere wanted to drag herself and her followers into the most miserable and desolate corner of the West, she could have done it without making it everyone else’s problem and dragging him into it.
“If you wanted to be religious extremists that’s what the Bedstone Valley is for, right Amy?” He chuckled—quieter this time—glancing up at the snow covered head of Amy, as if expecting the gentle giant to somehow understand the political climate of the central mountain ranges.
The Ugrunaaluk didn’t respond. She just walked.
Step after step after step after step—
The man sighed, the breath making a distinct puff of white against his dark pelts. He shook his head and burrowed further into his coats. “Ah, who am I kidding, those galoots ain’t nearly unwell enough for this.”
He grumbled, grunting as he leaned back, his gaze lifting to the sky, the only place that offered some slight relief from the endless white void, the slightly grayed sky of an eternal night staring back at him. The eternal night of the Sorrows offered no sun to track the hours, only subtle shifts in the intensity of the gloom.
There was no telling how long Roland had been out here.
Only White. White. White.
When Roland strained himself to hear them, the rustling of the Alaskacephale herd below provided a rhythmic, grounding counterpoint to the howling wind. They stayed close to Amy's massive flanks, utilizing the giant duck-bill as a moving shield against the biting gales. Roland tilted his head, watching a small juvenile stone-head hop over a stone, its thick skull dusted with frost, before it vanished back into the safety of the collective shadow.
It was rather ironic, despite the harsher climates, the rock heads were just the same as the ones back home. A stubborn, unruly lot with a questionable intelligence at times.
The Saurboy huffed, untucking his hands to grab the useless reins once more. It wasn’t like he was going to steer Amy, that was a death sentence, but the weight was comforting and familiar. He held them like the gentle giant may suddenly decide to lunge forward into a faster gait—his knuckles turning white under his gloves.
Maybe that was the most maddening part. Aside from the steps and the white.
This slow, unraveling pace that Amy has assumed, as if she didn’t truly care how long Roland was stranded alone in the Pass. Granted, she probably didn’t. The duck bill didn’t seem to care about much anyway.
But the pace was insulting to say the least.
Once more, Roland pressed his heels into the sides of Amy, urging her to go faster. And just like every other time he tried, he was ignored.
Yes, that was the nail in his coffin, the thing that drove Roland wild.
He missed the wind. Not the frigid, biting thing that whipped through the air and howled into the night, but the breathless torrent of air that rushed through his hair when he rode, cooling the sweat on his back. He missed watching the world pass as he covered mile after mile of open plains, rocky desert, or dense woodland. He ached for the speed and thrill of a chase, of the sun beating down on him as he outran the sky itself.
And Hallie was there, the grand dilophosaurus he had raised and trained as a mount, his partner in the wilds. A smile tugged at his cheek as he recalled her marvellous crests, her warbled calls and comforting presence. She was swift and powerful, agile in ways that Amy could only dream of becoming.
Roland’s chest ached, his lungs filling with thorns and heart wilting as he closed his eyes to picture the sky—a real one with baby blue and fluffy clouds the color of fresh cotton, white—
The young man’s eyes snapped open with a gasp.
White. White. White.
It was all he knew.
A lesser man might have cried.
He didn’t let himself shed a tear, no matter how tempting. The glassy haze in his eyes only made him far more aware of how frigid the air was. The damp fabric of his scarf began to stiffen, freezing solid against his lips. Roland exhaled slowly through his nose, watching the faint frost accumulate on the rim of his hood.
Step after step.
Amy’s heavy, rhythmic stride remained unbroken. Underneath the massive duck-bill’s flanks, the Alaskacephale clicked and murmured, their dense dome-skulls occasionally clacking together as they jostled for position in the giant herbivore's windbreak. They were entirely operating on instinct, trusting the ancient map locked away in Amy’s mind.
The howling gale that had been battering them from the side died down to a deceptive whisper, and the thick, blinding fog of flurries parted just a fraction. Roland blinked rapidly, clearing the frost from his eyelashes.
The break in the constant downfall of snow was brief, but just long enough for Roland to make out a clearer version of the treeline around them. The tall, twisted trees dark against the snowbanks, frozen statues of life. There were no figures this time, only trees—Roland sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he squinted at the landscape.
Within seconds the snowfall had condensed again, swallowing up any evidence of the woodland around them.
Amy’s horn like call broke the sound of the march.
“Freyda!” Roland choked, flinching so badly that he nearly lost balance on the large herbivore. His heart leapt up in his chest and settled in his throat, a rapid, preylike drumming filling his ears. The piercing bellow seemed to vibrate the air itself, embedding its notes into his very bones.
It took another ten seconds for Amy to finish her call, rumbling through the frozen air like an earthquake or a—
“Amy!” The man exclaimed, his hoarse voice hushed and urgent. He looked around the white, white abyss as if he had suddenly gained the ability to see any better than before. “Shut up will ya? You're gonna cause an avalanche or something!”
The Alaskacephale shuffled below, calling to each putter with bleats and clicks, their cries growing louder and louder as unease seemed to spread over the herd.
Roland narrowed his eyes, “See? Now you’ve got the little ones all—”
Amy had stopped moving.
She stood stock still, her large, meaty head lifted and alert. Her nostrils flaring angrily, puffing large clouds of warm air into the night. Her eyes were wide and wild as she scanned what was around her. Amy snorted before honking again, this time, the Alaskacephale fell silent beside her.
This wasn’t a rest, the stone heads were too anxious for that.
No, that had been a warning call.
Roland sat up straighter, his gut twisting as something cold ran down the length of his spine, his heart pounding like a beast in a cage against his ribcage. He narrowed his eyes, trying to scan the perimeter, to see anything through the impenetrable haze.
Nothing moved, time itself seemed to hold its breath alongside him as he helplessly tried to figure out what had caused the world to fall silent.
The only thing that seemed to move was the wind, it continued to race around them. Roland squinted, trying to see what had alarmed Amy—a predator or perhaps a blocked path, anything to warrant the rising dread and distress.
He saw nothing but white.
White. White. White.
It was all the same. Just like if it was black.
Black. Black. Black. Black.
Roland panted, the warm air damp against his scarf. His hands shaking slightly as he whipped his head around, squinting as he tried to see anything in the darkness—no, the light. The blinding black world he was trapped in.
Anything could be out there in the void. Anything could be hiding among the trees. Maybe the twisted humans had grown tired of stalking and were finally closing in for the kill.
Amy huffed loudly, stomping her large heavy foot against the snow and ice.
“It’s alright,” the Saurboy whispered, though his skin crawled all the same, voice wavering. Dread coiled in the stomach of Roland as he slowly leaned forward to give Amy a reassuring pat. “It’s probably nothing, old girl. Let’s… let’s just keep moving.”
Roland didn’t know who he was trying to convince more, himself or the dinosaur, that everything was fine. His numb fingers gripped the reins even tighter, the thick leather gloves creaking under the strain.
He was beginning to wish that had paid more attention to the administrator when they briefed him. They had probably gone over the dangers of the mountains, what Amy’s different signals meant—what that stomp meant. Trail walkers like herself were trained to have signals for their rider.
“Amy, what is it?” Roland breathed, for a moment forgetting that she would be unable to tell him.
The gentle giant let out an annoyed grumble, the muscles of her neck shifting under her thick skin. She huffed and stomped her foot once again, turning her head so she could somewhat look at him.
Roland stared dumbly back at her, panting, his entire frame shivering—but not from the cold. Amy was awaiting his next command.
For once, she was listening.
“I… I don’t- I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” the Saurboy eventually confessed with a hiss, looking around the white abyss again.
White. White. White.
Amy lifted her head up again, huffing and stomping more aggressively. The herd around them seemed to grow even more panicked, their silence broken as they started to cry and bleat out again. Their anxiety and unease spread like a wildfire among their ranks as they pawed at the ground and thrashed around in a blind fear.
It was no longer step after step. It was chaos.
And then—
They went quiet again. Dead silent.
A sound. Small. faint.
Amy must have heard it as well, her large head whipping around to face whatever had silenced the herd. A nervous warble crooned from her throat, she anxiously pawed the ground three times.
The Saurboy held his breath.
And there, again, slightly louder this time, was the sound. It was oddly familiar, a clicking chirp.
Roland had spent the past Freyda knows how long listening to the calls, bleats, and chirrups of the Alaskacephale. This didn’t belong to the stone-heads, nor did it belong to a duck-bill.
He choked on his next breath, the sharp sting of the cold air freezing his lungs. They needed to get away from whatever was making that sound.
Right now.
They needed to escape into the white.
White. White. White. White. White—
Roland tried to keep his cool, gently nudging Amy along. She hesitated, but resumed the same steady pace as before. The herd hesitantly followed as well.
“Alright Amy, let's just… keep a steady pace here, yeah? No… no biggie. Probably just a… bird?” Roland rambled on, mostly to himself. His nervous gaze still trained on the treeline that he couldn’t see.
The herd followed closely behind, nervous chatter picking up once again between the dinosaurs. He wanted to go faster, he wanted Amy to run, but she simply walked.
Step after step.
As they slowly moved along his hand itched for the trigger of a gun. Roland held tightly to the reins of Amy instead. He remained alert as they slowly passed from the familiar forest to a large open plain covered in pure white. The slight discoloration of the woods falling away into a literal void.
Blankness.
Nowhere to hide.
Roland tried to pull in a more steady breath but failed, his sharp, gasping pants still cutting through his lungs. He looked around the landscape for anything, any sign of what was watching him or where to go.
There was a single monolith, a single landmark. A stone sat just in sight of the trail, a deep, runic symbol carved into the surface. They were nearing the Hidden Valley then. They would pass through this elevated valley and up the next crest and then they would finally descend into the valley.
Any excitement he might have felt was drowned out by the drowning sense of dread that refused to release him. They were closer now, yes, but more vulnerable than ever. They had no cover.
The restless chatter between the Alaskacephale grew louder. And the mystery call—that faint whisper that had followed them—changed, morphing.
Roland could hear his own heartbeat loud in his ears, threatening to drown out the calls of whatever was out there, whatever had been following them, hunting them. Yes, that’s what was happening. He had seen this behavior a thousand times in a hundred different things.
They were being hunted.
The Saurboy’s grip on the reins tightened.
Black. Black. Black.
It was all black. All nothingness.
The sounds echoed around them and through the mountains, masking the origin of the sound.
Roland laughed—a nervous chuckle rising from his chest to his throat escaping from his lips. A mad, hysterical sound that made Amy flinch beneath him.
Amy’s deafening bellows drowned out everything else as she summoned the herd to remain closer to her. The smaller dinosaurs obeyed, their calls getting more and more frantic with each step.
The echoes of Amy’s bellow died against the sheer curtain of falling snow, leaving a vacuum of silence that was somehow worse. The Alaskacephale herd pressed so tightly against the giant duck-bill’s flanks that Roland could hear the rhythmic, terrified scraping of their claws against the hidden ice below.
Then, all at once, the frozen world erupted in life.
A shrill shriek came from one side of the herd—an Alaskacephale—the sound ringing through the air before being cut off suddenly. Other panicked shrieks were quick to follow as the herd fell into chaos.
Roland gasped, looking around, yanking the reins in his hand. “Shit—”
It was already too late, the shrieking calls of the stoneheads were an ear splitting, turbulent melody. Within seconds of the initial call, the small dinosaurs collectively broke into a dead sprint.
“Woah, Amy just wa—” Amy cut him off as she lurched forward. Her steady gait breaking into a rushed canter. Roland twisted, yelping as once again, he nearly lost his balance, clinging to Amy’s neck, as the multi-ton beast shifted forward. “Slow down!”
The irony wasn’t lost on the Saurboy.
The giant followed the herd, keeping to the back, making sure they were keeping pace, nudging and driving the chaotic rush of dinosaurs pressing in the right direction.
Whatever was giving them chase called out, loud and deafening.
And finally, all too late, Roland remembered. He remembered where he had heard a similar call. It was the call of a tyrannosaur. A mountain tyrant.
The roar tore through the white abyss like a physical blow, a bass-heavy vibration that rattled Roland’s teeth and punched the remaining air straight from his lungs.
A mountain tyrant.
The administrator's voice, once a boring drone in a warm briefing room, flashed in his mind with terrifying clarity. Nanuqsaurus. The polar tyrant. A feathered, compact engine of teeth and muscle built specifically to stalk the freezing hell of the Sorrows.
He could hear it in the white, white blankness behind him, panting on his mount’s heels.
Amy lunged forward with terrifying momentum, her massive thighs churning through the deep drifts. The slow, rhythmic metronome was dead, replaced by the frantic, thudding earthquake of a multi ton duck bill running. Roland gasped, trying to pull in a breath as he squeezed his legs tight against her sides, clawing at her neck in an attempt to hold on.
“Amy… Amy!” Roland cried out, he wasn’t sure what for, exactly, but the words escaped him anyway—sharp and shrill in the frigid air.
Below them, the Alaskacephale herd was a scattering, panicking blur of grey and white. Another shrill scream cut through the blizzard—closer this time—followed by the horrific, wet crunch of bone.
Roland risked a glance backward over his shoulder.
Through the shifting veil of white, the void parted. A shape materialized out of the nothingness. It wasn’t a twisted tree, and it wasn’t a ghost born of his madness. A sick feeling settled in Roland as he recognized the blurry form of some kind of theropod.
It was massive, low-slung, and covered in a thick, shaggy coat of ghostly white plumage that bled perfectly into the storm. Only its eyes—unblinking, cold, and fixed with predatory certainty—and the dark, stained crimson dripping from its jaws gave it away.
Not just one. Four.
The tyrants didn't stumble. Their broad, padded feet gripped the snow with evolutionary perfection. The closest one was closing the gap.
“Faster, Amy! Faster!” Roland screamed, his voice instantly whipped away by the gale. He urged Amy forward, but she remained at her current speed, unwilling to move ahead of the herd. “Amy please!”
A sob caught in Roland’s throat as he tried to push the dinosaur faster, opening his mouth to scold her when he could hear a distinct clamp from next to him, he could hear large teeth clicking together on nothing but thin air.
Roland’s heart stalled for a second, a yelp escaping his lips. The predator had attempted to bite Amy, though the dinosaur had managed to narrowly dodge the blow.
This time Amy didn’t need the encouragement. She bellowed again, a desperate, trumpeting blast of pure terror, her tail swinging violently to counterbalance her rushed, clumsy strides. The runic monolith they had passed flashed by to their left, a mocking milestone. They were in the open plain now. No trees to weave through. No high ridges to block the wind. Just a flat, featureless kill-zone.
The white void was no longer an abstract psychological torment. It was a hunting ground, and he was the bait.
The deafening, gargled crack of splitting ice rattled the air.
Roland looked down at the ground, squinting through the stinging flurries. They were on ice, passing over a frozen lake. His stomach dropped and his heart fluttered rapidly in his chest, threatening to breath through his ribs with each heaving breath he took. Panic filled the heart of the man, making its rapid pace skip and leap in his chest until it ached.
They were too heavy, with the combined weight of the four tyrannosaurs, the herd of Alaskacephale, and Amy, they were too much for the ice.
Roland’s eyes flickered to the predators pursuing them. They were unfazed by the ear-splitting cracks of the ice.
Suddenly, before Roland could properly react, a juvenile Alaskacephale, completely blinded by panic, tripped directly in Amy’s path. The little stone-head tumbled, rolling beneath the giant Ugrunaaluk's feet. Amy jarred violently to the left to avoid stepping on it, her massive foot slipping on a sheet of black ice hidden beneath the powder.
Amy used the momentum to spin around and face the Tyrants that quickly encircled them, eagerly and hungrily watching them. Amy stood defensively, the Nanuqsaurus’ quickly forgetting about the herd and instead focusing on the food before them.
The gentle giant let out a loud and angry call, it rumbled from deep within her throat and through her large nasal cavity to create a strange horn-like sound. It was loud. That was one thing most hadrosaurs were known for, their deafening calls, amplified by their crests. The sheer volume of this call rattled Roland’s skull, leaving his ears ringing as they faced down the Tyrants.
The intimidation did little against the predators.
The Nanuqsaurus’ squabbled angrily back at her, a mix of a hiss and a squawk.
For a few seconds they were caught in a stalemate, the outlines of the beasts fading in and out with the flurries and each side assessed the other. Then finally, to Roland’s dismay, one of the Tyrannosaurs leapt forward.
Roland’s hand instinctively flew to his pistol, his other hand pulling harshly on the reins of Amy. The dinosaur obeyed him, moving out of the way just in time to dodge the assault. The theropod hit the ice with a loud crack landing on its chest, the wind knocked out of it with a loud huff. The ice let out its own bellow upon impact. But the creature was swift to recover, rumbling in annoyance as it faced Amy once more.
Amy paid it little mind, bellowing loudly as two of the others leapt towards her. She reared up, her front legs kicking out dangerously. She dodged the first Tyrannosaur, kicking its massive head to the side.
“Atta girl, Amy,” Rolad grunted, leveling his pistol and holding the reins tight to keep himself on the giant. When the felled Tyrant was within close enough range that Roland could get a sure shot, he yanked on the cool metal of his pistol's trigger.
The deafening crack of gunfire erupted in the world, a momentary vibrant flash of color, and the beast yelped in surprise, cowering away as dark red seeped into its ghostly plumage.
The gunfire was alarming, two of the Tyrants startling backwards, Amy flinching at the sudden sound that broke up the prehistoric duel.
That flinch was the opening one of the Nanuqsaurus needed. It darted forward, twisting to avoid Amy’s frantic kicking with a triumphant hiss. The predator broke the invisible barrier of white that had consumed the world, its large eyes locked onto Roland as it opened its massive jaws to bite down on the flesh just below Amy’s hips, where her tail started.
The air trembled with the sound of agony that Amy made.
It rattled in Roland’s chest, knocking the air from his lungs and splitting his ears until he was sure that beneath the hood they must have been bleeding. He screamed, his hands instinctively letting go of the reins to cover his ears from the echoing call.
A mistake.
That’s all it took to seal a fate. Roland knew that. He knew it the second his hands clasped down on the sides of his head.
The giant duck-bill lurched, her hind legs kicking out in an attempt to buck off the Tyrant. Roland felt the world tilt dangerously.
It would be alright, he had his tether clipped. The leather lead that kept him safely attached to the saddle would stop his fall. Roland would be alright. He was okay.
He had always been bad at remembering to clip the damn thing.
“No, no, no, please—!”
Roland was pitched forward, launched over her shoulder with the next kick. The wind was knocked out of him before he even hit the ground, and then came the impact—a brutal, bone-jarring crash into the ground.
He rolled, a chaotic blur of white and freezing cold, until he slammed hard against the snow and thick ice.
For a second, the world went completely black.
Then, the white rushed back.
Roland gasped, spitting out a mouthful of freezing powder, his chest burning as if he had swallowed fire. For a brief moment he let himself lay there, trying to suck in a sharp breath that refused to come.
He gasped. And gasped. And gasped.
It hurt, but upon his fourth try, he finally drew in air, filling his stunned lungs up just enough to stop them from burning. He could feel them click with each breath, a painful grinding that felt like a knife had been stabbed between the bones. The exhale was worse, a broken sob ripping from his throat as the ribs ground together ungrateful.
Roland couldn’t stay there, he would die. He needed Hallie, no. He needed Amy. The Saurboy’s breath hitched as he tried to push himself up, but his right shoulder screamed in agony. His thick furs were heavy, packed with snow, anchoring him to the ground.
A few yards away, Amy was still bucking, huffing in a frenzy, her massive head swinging as she reoriented herself. She didn’t look at him. She couldn't see him. The world trembled and shook as the large ugrunaaluk moved.
“Amy!” Roland choked out, but the sound was nothing more than a pathetic wheeze. He was narrowly able to dodge the large foot of Amy—rolling away with a sickening crunch of bone and a strangled cry. His whole frame shaking in the snowfall as blistering tears finally started falling, freezing against his face.
The towering giant didn’t acknowledge him, she had managed to finally buck off the tyrant and delivered a brutal kick to its jaw with her powerful legs. The theropod wailed loudly, stumbling backwards blindly.
Roland twisted away from the large taloned feet with a desperate wheeze, trying not to get trampled as it backed up in pain. Another dinosaur was quick to take its place on Amy. The earth and ice continued to tremble beneath the feet of the dueling goliaths. The ice crackled with the stress that was being put on it, its warning lost on the preoccupied beasts.
Amy fought off the theropod, bellowing angrily, the puff of hot air making her look as if she were breathing fire.
The ice groaned.
The Saurboy tried to shuffle further away, whimpering and panting with each slight movement, his gaze blurred with the tears that ran freely down his face and froze into his scarf. His numb fingers dung helplessly into the slick ice, trying to find some purchase to get away.
It was useless, every time he tried to pull his broken, numbing body over the ice, a blinding pain rattled through him. Roland’s chest hitched as he lazily flitted his head to the side with a defeated whimper, blinking through tears and flurries to watch the battle.
Another Nanuqsaurus lunged at Amy, who twisted around and hit the theropod in the chest with her thick tail. The loud thud and pop made Roland wince, his own chest aching in sympathy as the beast fell to the ground with a wheezing roar. It lay there for a breath or two before it struggled to right itself, unable to find proper footing on the slick ice.
The tyrant whimpered, shaking itself as it recovered from the blow. There was a loud and distinct crack that echoed all around them, significantly louder than the rest.
The Nanuqsaurus froze, their large eyes locking onto Roland a second before it was plunged under the ice and into the freezing water below.
The ice had finally given way.
The other Nanuqusaurus stopped their berate on Amy the second the squawk of their packmate was cut short, their large heads turning to look at the empty space left behind. It didn't take long for a familiar head of the felled tyrant to emerge from the frigid water. The other three warbled to each other at the sight until the nearest member walked over and assisted the soaked tyrant out of the black water.
Roland blinked, and blinked, the white, white world hazy and distant in the edges of his vision. He grunted as he turned his head again, looking for Amy.
The duck bill was gone, swallowed by the void.
He wanted to scream, he really did, but the clicking ache in his lungs denied him that pleasantry. His blurred vision filling with even more tears until there was nothing but white.
White. White. White. White. White.
There was no up or down. No beginning or end. Right or left.
This was it.
Only white.
The man swallowed, each breath a short gasp of air that left him wincing. The eerie silence stretched on, swallowing breath after breath until Roland felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He slowly turned to face the four imposing figures before him.
One by one the tyrant’s heads swiveled to look at him, one by one they locked their hungry gaze on him.
Roland froze. His shallow breath caught in his throat.
The nearest tyrant lowered its massive, feathered head, its nostrils flaring as it exhaled a twin plume of hot, steaming vapor into the frigid air.
He would never be able to fight them off, not like Amy had, his best bet was to get far enough on to the thin ice that they weren’t willing to follow.
The heavy, rhythmic huffs of the lead tyrant vibrated through the frozen surface, a low frequency that Roland felt directly in his fractured ribs. The beast took a tentative step forward. The ice beneath its wide, padded foot didn't shatter, but it gave a sickening, hollow groan—a warning the predator clearly understood. It paused, shifting its massive weight, its intelligent, avian eyes locked onto the shivering, broken human.
To them, he wasn't a threat anymore. He was a meal that couldn't run.
Roland’s right arm was entirely useless, a dead weight screaming with white-hot agony every time he pulsed his muscles. Gritting his teeth until they threatened to crack, he dug his left elbow into the hard-packed powder. He dragged himself backward an inch. Then another.
The movement drew the immediate attention of the second Nanuqsaurus, the one still dripping with lethal, freezing water. It let out a sharp, clicking hiss, its throat puffing out as it slunk around the perimeter of the fractured zone, trying to find a thicker shelf of ice to flank him.
Every drag backward was a descent into hell. His breath clicked and rattled, a wet, terrible sound inside his scarf. The black water of the open hole was only a few yards behind him now, tendrils of steam rising from the dark abyss like phantom fingers reaching into the white void. If he could back up right to the lip of the ice, the combined weight of even one of these monsters attempting to lunging at him would trigger a catastrophic collapse. It was suicide, but dying in the dark, freezing deep felt infinitely better than being torn apart by serrated teeth.
The lead tyrant lost its patience.
Roland could feel the ice beneath him shiver and tremble as the predator engaged.
With a low, rumbling growl, it dropped its chest close to the snow, spreading its weight, and began a slow, agonizingly deliberate crawl toward him. The ice screamed in protest. Long, jagged white spiderwebs shot out from beneath its talons, racing across the surface toward Roland’s boots.
Roland stopped moving. He couldn't go any further without slipping into the water himself. His left hand fumbled blindly at his chest, his numb fingers brushing against where his pistol should have been.
It was gone.
He had dropped it.
His vision went completely black for a terrifying second as his ribs shifted. When the world blurred back into a hazy gray, the tyrant was barely ten feet away. He could smell the rancid, metallic stench of old blood on its breath.
“No,” he wheezed, another sob rattling his chest and tearing a silent scream from his throat as he writhed. His shallow breaths sped up as he gasped and begged, “Please- don’t… I… please.”
The tyrant behind him didn’t care. When had any dinosaur ever really cared for Roland or what he wanted? The beast opened its irregularly large jaws—its hot breath washing over him—and bit down on the closest thing it could reach.
Roland screamed.
The delicate muscle and bone of his arm shattered like a twig under the pressure of the powerful bite. His flesh tearing open like a blossoming flower, its delicate red petals seeping down from the wound. The blood seemed to burn Roland’s skin, hot tears welling in his eyes. The Nanuqsaurus reared, pulling its large feathered head up, pulling the young man up with it. They arched, carrying Roland up.
The sudden, violent shift in gravity tore a final, ragged cry from Roland's throat as the world tilted violently. Suspended in the air, the agonizing pressure on his arm suddenly gave way as the fabric of his thick winter coat tore open under the immense weight.
He fell.
It was only a drop of a few feet, but the impact with the frozen surface was catastrophic. The structural integrity of the ice, already compromised by the weight of the massive theropods and spiderwebbed with deep fractures, completely surrendered.
With a sound like a fracturing mountain, the shelf beneath Roland shattered entirely.
The white void instantly vanished, replaced by a suffocating, absolute black. The shock of the Arctic water hit him like a physical blow, a freezing hammer that instantly stole what little air remained in his lungs. The burning pain in his ribs and shattered arm was momentarily numbed, eclipsed by the sheer, paralyzing terror of the deep.
Above him, the chaotic churning of the water signaled that the lead tyrant had gone under with him. Through the dark, churning bubbles, Roland could see the massive, pale shape of the predator thrashing wildly. Even an evolutionary marvel of the far north was helpless against the buoyancy of its own feathered coat and the weight of its massive bones in open water. The beast kicked frantically, its great jaws snapping at the empty, freezing void as the current began to pull it downward.
Roland was sinking, too. His sodden furs felt like lead weights, dragging him down into the featureless abyss of the lake.
Fight. The thought wasn't a conscious choice; it was a primal reflex. Forcing his uninjured left arm to move through the viscous, freezing water, he clawed upward. Every stroke was pure agony, sending ripples of fire through his chest, but the instinct to survive pushed him through the numbness.
Above, a faint, fractured green-white light marked the hole in the ice.
He kicked with his legs, ignoring the grinding protest of his torso, and pushed himself toward the surface. His head broke through the slush-filled water, and he sucked in a desperate, freezing lungful of air, gagging and coughing violently as the stinging wind hit his face again.
He managed to hook his left elbow over the jagged edge of the remaining ice shelf. A few yards away, the surface of the black water bubbled violently, then went still. The tyrant had succumbed to the dark deep, dragged under by its own massive bulk.
On the far side of the breach, the remaining three Nanuqsaurus stood on the thicker ice, pacing back and forth. They let out low, frustrated trills, their predatory confidence broken by the sudden disappearance of the ice and their packmate. The dark, freezing barrier between them was a line they were no longer willing to cross.
Roland hung there, suspended between the freezing water and the biting wind, his fingers locking onto the ice with the last ounce of strength he possessed. Through the howling blizzard, a distant, familiar sound echoed across the open plain—a deep, resonant, horn-like rumble.
Amy. She was still out there, calling for him.
Gritting his teeth against the cold that threatened to put him to sleep permanently, Roland began the agonizing process of hauling his broken body out of the water and back onto the solid, unforgiving ice.
He wasn't dead yet. He had to try.
The moment he tried to pull himself up with his functional arm he began to slip, fear coursing through him.
Roland pulled his knife out from his hip and plunged it into the ice, using it to hold onto the slippery surface. He gasped for air, the cold slowly numbing his fingers and toes despite their cover. He grimaced as he clumsily pulled himself up again.
The cold was no longer just a sensory sting; it was a physical weight, pressing into his bones and slowing the rhythm of his heart.
Every inch gained felt like pulling against gravity itself. With his left hand white-knuckled around the hilt of the hunting knife, Roland dug the steel deeper into the slick shelf. The blade groaned against the packed frost, but it held. He used that single, anchoring point to wrench his torso upward, dragging his sodden, leaden furs over the lip of the ice.
He collapsed onto his stomach, half-submerged, his legs still dangling into the black abyss of the lake.
The wind howled a vicious welcome, instantly turning the lake water on his clothes into a stiff, crackling sheet of frost. Roland lay there panting, his forehead pressed against the snow, listening to the rhythmic, frustrated pacing of the three remaining Nanuqsaurus. They were close—close enough that he could hear the wet clicking of their throats over the gale—but the wide crescent of open water kept them at bay. They wouldn't risk the treacherous shelf again. Not after watching their packmate vanish into the deep.
Roland shivered, the tremor coursing through his body. He coughed, his warm breath puffing. He couldn’t feel his body anymore. A fact he may have mourned if it wasn’t sparing him from the agony that surely awaited him. His eyes lazily looked around, water freezing to his red face. The tears in his eyes made them unbearably cold. His eyelids were heavy but he stubbornly kept them open, if he closed them he wasn’t sure if he would have the will to open them again.
The man lay in the ice, cold and still, staring into the endless void around him.
Roland shivered, his body futilely trying to warm him up and keep him alive. The frozen air protested, sinking deep within Roland, piecing his aching bones. He huffed, blinking away the flurries.
He stared into the barren wasteland around him, his mind wandering, trying to distract himself from his plummeting body temperature and the death that would follow. He thought of Hallie, forever awaiting his return, a cruel fate for any dilophosaurus. He was going to miss her.
The Saurboy sighed, the exhaustion slowing his body until he didn’t even have the energy to shiver, the tremors slowly dwindling out until he lay still. He thought of his family back home.
Roland’s heart clenched at the thought of them, he tried his best to not dwell on them often, an attempt to keep himself from being homesick. Yet, in the frigid cold he let himself feel the ache of their absence. Would his father mourn for him? Would he cry? Would his death finally move the tearless man to cry? Or would he silently suffer as he did so often?
His mother would await his next letter, probably until the day she died. He could picture her on the porch, sitting in her old rocking chair, the boards creaking under her. She would wait patiently, eyes trained on the horizon, waiting for whenever he finally wrote back. She would sit awake at night waiting for him to come through the door and be home. And his sister, his dear younger sister.
Tears spilled down Roland’s frozen face, freezing on his cheeks once again.
She too would forever wait for his return, mourning her older brother. She would be sad, though her tears of sorrow would quickly turn to tears of rage. She had always been like that, even when she was young Roland knew that she had the fight and fire of the sun in her, the rage of those long dead sat deep in her spirit. She would hate him for leaving her, for leaving mom waiting at the door, and making dad no longer smile, and for leaving Hallie forever waiting. She would curse his name through tears of hurt because he left her when he promised to return.
Roland could feel his broken breaths get gradually shallower, longer, and slower, his mind and thoughts covered in a thick fog. His heart beat had slowed down to a painfully slow rhythm, no longer fighting to escape his chest. Stars danced in his fading vision as the very fabric of reality started to unravel around him.
He should curl up. To conserve body heat. But every time he tried something kept him from drawing his knees to his chest. Something cold and heavy. And it was so hard to breathe, like Hallie was sitting on his chest, pressing him into the ground… no, the ice.
It wasn’t fair. Roland had done everything right, he knew he did.
Why was he so cold?
Why was he alone?
That should have prompted something, a shift or ache in his chest. It didn’t. He just wheezed into the ice and snow, mind drifting into the endless white.
White. White. White. White.
It was so beautiful like this.
How could he have not seen it before?
Maybe it was because he was tired, so very, very tired. His heavy eyelids threatening to close. He wanted nothing more than to finally shut his eyes and rest, so he could get somewhere warm when he woke up and had more energy. But he knew better, some part of him protested, keeping him awake. If he were to fall asleep here, he wouldn’t wake up.
Roland let out a shaky breath as tears once again glazed his vision.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to talk with his sister and play with Hallie, he wanted to ride dinosaurs with his dad and help his mom in the kitchen. It would be warm, and he would lay down on his nice soft bed and get a good full night's rest under the warm blankets.
The saurboy smiled, a slow, quivering upturn of his lips.
Somewhere, far off, there was a light, faded and flickering in the flurries.
Someone was coming for him. His father perhaps.
Yes, his father. He would take him home.
Then, Roland would sit with his mom as she knitted, his father and sister playing a card game. And he would go outside and look up at the stars with Hallie, connecting constellations and looking for shooting stars.
The man grunted, using what little energy he could muster to glance up at the sky in a fleeting attempt to see any familiar stars, to his disappointment he was met with a foggy black color.
His dad was calling out now, but it was muffled, like he was still in the water.
Roland didn’t understand what they were saying, he didn’t think he cared. He didn’t have the energy to respond anyway. His heavy eyelids drifted further down, fluttering in a last attempt to stay awake, alive.
He did his best, he was sure of that, he tried his hardest to remain awake. Yet, at some point the nagging darkness finally won, and he slipped into a peaceful sleep, the dark abyss somehow welcoming.
Roland was finally enveloped in warmth of his mother’s knitted blanket, his father had found him.
—
Black.
As far as the eye could see.
There was nothing.
And then—
Roland discovered rather quickly that consciousness, no matter how fractured, was not a kind thing.
For a long moment he basked in the simple fact that he was alive, that his heart was still beating despite it all. He could figure out what he needed to do later, all he could think of was the miracle that had happened.
Roland was Alive.
The first thing that returned wasn't sight, or even sound. It was the smell.
It was the rich, sharp scent of burning pine and melting tallow, underscored by the heavy, metallic tang of herbal poultices. Then came the heat. It didn't feel like the gentle warmth of his mother’s knitted blankets from his delirium; it felt like a physical assault. His skin pricked and needled as thawed blood forced its way back into numbed limbs, a sensation like a thousand tiny sparks dancing under his flesh.
He was laying on something softer than the ice, with something heavy pulled over him, a blanket—a pile of them really. Something small and warm was curled in a tight ball on his lap, he could feel their small heartbeat and breaths, a small, comforting purr rattled from their chest.
Roland didn't know what it was but he was glad that it was warm.
The Saurboy was on the edge of drifting back into unconsciousness when he heard footsteps from nearby. His hearing was still muddled and warped, he couldn’t tell if they were getting closer or further from him. But they were talking, murmuring gently, whether it was directed at him or someone else, Roland didn’t know.
He didn’t really care to find out either.
He simply drew in a deep breath, tuning them out—
Taking a deep breath was a mistake.
Roland let out a ragged gasp, his eyes flying open with a wheezing cry, his arms moving to put pressure on his side.
Instead of the endless, blinding white of the glacial lake, his vision was filled with the dark, heavy grain of wooden rafters. A single, amber lantern swung gently from an iron hook above, casting long, dancing shadows across the ceiling.
“Don't try to move,” a strange, soothing voice commanded. It was sharp, clear, and thoroughly unfamiliar, lilted with an exotic accent he had never heard before. He could feel gentle hands pressing his shoulders back into the mattress where he lay, “Unless you want those ribs to puncture something important.”
Roland squinted, panting slightly as his eyes adjusted. He turned his head, a pathetic groan escaping his throat. Every muscle in his neck felt like rusted iron.
Sitting on a low stool beside his cot was a young woman, roughly his own age, wrapped in a heavy vest made of thick, mottled hide. Her light hair was pulled back in utilitarian braids, and her hands—stained green at the knuckles from crushing herbs—were busy mending a very familiar coat.
He blinked, his mouth open slightly, staring at the coat.
It was nice and thick, a waterproof leather lined with furs to keep the snow out. It was a shame to have it be ruined.
It was his coat.
Memory rushed back in a terrifying, freezing deluge. The white void. The snapping jaws of the Tyrants. The sickening crunch of his own bone. Roland panicked, trying to lurch upward, but a fierce, white hot spike of agony in his chest instantly pinned him back to the mattress.
“I said, don't move,” the woman repeated, placing a firm, surprisingly strong hand against his uninjured shoulder to keep him down. “You're lucky to be breathing. If your beast hadn't made enough noise to wake the dead, I wouldn't have found you before the frost claimed what the tyrants left behind.”
Roland didn’t put up much of a fight, slumping back into the mattress with a slight wheeze, his ribs clicking painfully. His gaze drifted to his lap where a small raptor lay, though, now they looked disturbed and irritated. Probably because he was moving so much.
The saurboy stared stupidly at the creature for a few breaths, trying to make sense of the world around him and the puzzling mush of memories in his brain.
He had a dinosaur. Not Hallie, but someone else.
“Amy…” Roland wheezed, his voice sounding like gravel grinding together. “Where... where is…”
“Your giant duck-bill? She's outside,” the woman explained slowly, her expression softening just a fraction. She reached for a wooden mug steaming on a nearby table. “Stupidly stubborn creature. She’s currently nursing a few nasty bites on her flank, but she’s alive. She practically guided me right to you.”
Relief washed over Roland so intensely it made his eyes water. Amy was alive. That was good. That meant he hadn’t failed. Not completely at least.
The herd.
Before he could open his mouth to ask, the woman chuckled and nodded. “Yes, the herd is alright as well, I had my Mother take them to the Valley.”
The girl slipped a hand behind his neck, carefully lifting his head just enough to press the rim of the mug to his cracked lips. “Drink. It tastes like dirt, but it’ll stop the screaming in your bones.”
Roland could care less about how it tasted, it was something other than boiled down snow.
He swallowed greedily, coughing slightly as the bitter, hot liquid hit the back of his throat. As the warmth settled into his stomach, he looked around the small, cramped space. Furs lined the log walls, and a massive stone hearth crackled in the corner, throwing off a desperate, defiant heat against the storm howling outside the heavy timber door.
“Where am I?” Roland asked, his vision finally clearing, though his voice remained hoarse. “Am I… in the Valley?”
The girl set the mug down and picked up her bone needle, returning to her work on his coat. She shook her head, keeping her words slow enough for him to easily understand, “No, we are in a cabin in Trapmore, the settlement just outside the Hidden Valley. You're sitting right on the lip of the threshold.”
Roland’s breath hitched. The Hidden Valley. He had actually made it. The destination that had cost him his pistol, his safety, and nearly his life was just beyond the frosted windowpane of this cabin.
“My Mother and I have been expecting you for some time now, Saurboy,” the woman continued, her strange, pale eyes looking up from her work to lock into his. Her smile remained friendly but there was an emotion stirring beneath her eyes, one that Roland couldn’t figure out in his current state, “I would have taken you to the Valley healers but… no men are allowed outside during the nightfall months. Hopefully my mother will return with someone.”
The girl’s words hung in the air, but Roland’s mind was still trying to untangle itself from the fog of his near death experience. He tried to process the strange rule she had mentioned, but a persistent, bizarre sensation kept drawing his attention away.
His right hand felt stiff. In fact, it felt like his fingers were tightly clenched into a fist, frozen and cramping from the absolute cold of the lake. He wanted to stretch them out, to wiggle his knuckles just to prove to himself that the frost hadn't taken them.
Instinctively, he tried to lift his right arm to look at it.
Nothing happened.
Roland frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried again, putting more conscious effort into the muscle command. He felt the phantom flexing of his wrist, felt the imaginary sweep of his forearm against the heavy pile of blankets. Yet, the blankets didn't move.
Slowly, carefully, Roland shifted his gaze downward. He let his eyes travel past the thick collar of his undershirt and down to his right side.
The heavy furs had shifted slightly when he lunged forward earlier. Beneath them, where his right shoulder should have tapered into a thick, muscular arm, the fabric of his tunic was pinned flat against his side. There was a neat, heavy wrap of clean linen bandages forming a stark, white mound just above the elbow joint.
The arm was gone.
His arm was gone.
Roland stared at the empty space.
His breath caught, not from the pain of his ribs this time, but from a sudden, hollow vacuum that seemed to open up directly in the center of his chest. He blinked, expecting his vision to correct itself, expecting the blurry outline of his limb to materialize through the dim lantern light.
He had to be dreaming. The white was missing. Only his dreams were in color, the waking world was nothing but blankness.
This was a dream.
It had to be.
But Roland was no fool.
“Where is…” Roland started, but the words died in his throat. His left hand flew to his right side, his trembling fingers brushing against the thick, padded bandages. There was nothing beneath them. Just a flat, bandaged termination. His voice cracked as he continued, “Where... what did you do?”
The girl stopped her stitching. The friendly, easygoing demeanor vanished from her face, replaced by a somber, grounded solemnity. She set the coat and the bone needle down on the stool beside her.
“The tyrant's teeth didn't just tear the flesh,” she spoke softly, tilting bed head slightly to catch his eyes better, “The bone was shattered to splinters, and by the time I dragged you out of the slush, the frostbite had already taken hold of what was left. If I hadn't taken it, the rot would have reached your chest.”
Roland didn't hear her.
A high pitched ringing erupted in his ears, completely drowning out the crackle of the hearth and the howling wind outside. His left hand clutched at the bandages, squeezing the phantom limb that his brain insisted was still there, still freezing, still clenching into a tight, panicked fist.
He was a Saurboy. A rider. A handler. How was he supposed to hold the heavy leather reins of an Ugrunaaluk with one hand? How was he supposed to tend to Hallie, to saddle a mount, to survive in a world where teeth and claws ruled the wilderness?
A broken, ragged sob escaped his lips, his chest heaving as the reality of the loss crashed over him like the freezing waters of the lake.
The small raptor on his lap chirped softly, disturbed by the sudden shaking of his frame. It stretched its neck, pressing its warm, feathery snout against his left wrist, a small, instinctual gesture of comfort that felt incredibly heavy in the quiet cabin.
The woman looked away, her eyes wet, “I am… sorry, I truly am.”
Roland could do nothing but shake his head, shifting to stare blankly at the wall instead of at the woman who had saved him and doomed him all the same.
The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the fire and Roland’s own jagged, uneven breathing. His left hand remained clamped over the thick linen bandages, his fingers digging into the fabric as if he could somehow force the missing limb back into existence.
The small raptor on his lap let out another soft, trilling purr, shifting its weight to press closer against his chest. The simple, unconditional warmth of the creature was the only thing anchoring him to the room.
The woman let out a quiet sigh, her hands resting idly on her lap over his ruined coat. She gave him a moment to breathe, waiting until the worst of his frantic gasps began to level out.
“My name is Mauve,” she prompted softly, introducing herself with a gentle nod. “The raptor is July. I know this is a bitter welcome to the threshold, but you are safe here.”
Roland swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the tea. He forced his eyes away from the flat, empty space on his right side and looked up at her. His chest still ached terribly, each breath a sharp reminder of the ice shelf, but the ringing in his ears was finally beginning to fade.
“Roland,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. “My name is Roland.”
“Roland,” Mauve repeated, testing the weight of the name. A small, faint smile returned to her face, though her eyes remained deeply empathetic. “Well, Roland, you've managed what few others have. You survived the Sorrows, you protected your herd, and you made it to the Valley's edge. You are a long way from the southern plains, but you are among people who know the beasts.”
She reached down, gently scooping the small raptor off his lap to give him room to adjust. The creature chirped in mild protest but quickly settled into the crook of her arm, its intelligent eyes still fixed on the stranger in the cot.
“Rest now,” Mauve urged, pulling the heavy furs back up to his chin with her free hand. “The storm outside won't clear for days, and you have a long road of healing ahead of you. We will figure out the rest when the sun returns.”
I’m interrupting our usual broadcast to show off some bugs I’ve found recently… because I can. And I love them.
I handle a lot of bugs and am in no ways a professional! It’s very hypocritical of me to say this, but please don’t just go around scooping bugs without researching a bit first.
My method to stay safe has been memorizing and identifying which bugs I should not hold that are native to my area. What bugs do I not hold? Ones with bad temperaments (wasps) or ones that I’ll be sent to the hospital if I’m bitten by them. Anything that’s not one of those bugs are free real estate as far as I’m concerned.
Gonna start with our non spiders.
Top image: I went to the dock and found two Damselfly molts (the other one was on the other side of the post) and a Dragonfly molt. I did collect these and bring them home.
Bottom image: I was working on Vanessa (my truck) when I had this Bordered Plant Bug fly into my hair. He got a little dirty when I brushed him off but otherwise he was a very agreeable fella and was a delight.
The rest are spiders! So if you don’t like them or get uncomfortable with seeing someone handle them please don’t look below the cut!
—
Starting with the ones that I didn’t handle!
Because, in all seriousness, I’ve met people that are fine with spiders but freak out when they see someone (me) handling them. So if you’re one of those people, this is your last warning. And if you think you’re good and scroll down to discover you’re not… I’m sorry in advance for being your awakening.
I found this beautiful lady in a parking lot. She is a Golden Silk Orb-Weaver. Also called the Banana Spider or Giant Golden Orb-Weaver. Which, at first I confused it with the invasive Joro spider before I got a better look at her pattern. But this gal is a native!
I would have loved to scoop her, but she and her husbands had built a very cozy and large web and I didn’t want to disturb them.
Fun fact about orb weavers, you can tell that they are female usually due to the size and their color! Females (like the one above) are much larger than males. They grow to about 1-1.5 inches long, around 2.5-4 in non-freedom units (cm). They also are brightly colored and are the ones spinning webs! Males are freeloaders. But the males are usually brown and are only about 1/4th of an inch long! Which is about the size of one of the females leg joints!!
Left image: a Furrow Orb-Weaver I found on my dad’s truck, Big Blue. It’s likely a female due to the abdomen size. Once again I didn’t want to disturb its web so I didn’t handle it. Which also means I wasn’t able to determine if it’s 100% a female since the best way to tell is looking for the “boxing gloves” the males have.
Right image: a little spider I found on the patio. It’s hard to identify smaller spiders like this but it’s likely a kind of Ground Spider. But it could also be a male False Widow. He was a bit too small to safely handle though.
Now for a fun game of where is the spider! This guy was very well camouflaged. At first I thought tbey may have been a wolf spider, but they are actually one of the many wolf spider look alikes! This is a likely a kind of Grass Spider!
The key give away is actually the web they are sitting on! Almost all wolf spiders don’t have a web and if you look closely you can see the spinnerets sticking out from the back, another trait that wolf spiders lack.
You remember that Furrow Orb-Weaver from before? Well, this is likely a male of the species, since he has the boxing gloves and smaller abdomen. He is still on the leaner side for the species so it’s possible that it’s some other spider. All other spiders that I looked at that match his build and pattern usually have webs though, and this guy doesn’t have one.
First image: I found this spider in the bathroom. I’m pretty sure this is a juvenile Twin Flagged Jumping spider! So they haven’t grown into their spots yet.
Second image: I found this Wolf Spider—it can be fairly difficult to id the species of wolf spider, but I believe this is a Lance Wolf Spider—on my birthday!!! It was a very pleasant surprise and he was very well behaved.
Wolf spiders are genuinely one of my favorite spiders to handle. I’ve handled and observed enough of them to have a very good grasp on their body language and they are larger so it’s easy to scoop them up without having to worry about harming them. They also always have so much personality. Half the time you pick them up and they just sit in your hand and you can see the gears turning in their head as they try to figure out what to do.
—
Anyway, that’s all the spiders and bugs I’ve found (and taken pictures of because so many of the suckers slip away before I can document) in the past couple of weeks!
I’m up way too late working on art and listening to this guy yap and out dinosaurs and… gosh the flashbacks I got to dinotopia. I never owned a copy but I swear I brought that sucker home from the library like every other week in elementary school .
Point is, I had the flashbacks and am now looking at my Wild West dinosaurs concept and sighing because I just added politics. And… some other stuff but-
I enjoyed listening to this dude and agree with him that we don’t have nearly as many dinosaur movies and general dinosaur content that we should.
I guess this is just a sign that I need to switch career paths and become a movie director or something and make my Wild West dinosaurs show a reality.
So.. more PHM au stuff with my transformer ocs! This time its the crew on their way to Erid!
They have resorted to eating the Taumeoba so they are little guys. They need some burgers. Meburgers... Usburgers? is that what they get? or is that too close to cannibalism?
Anyway, doesn’t matter. They are so stinky. they need real showers and to clean their clothes properly. They ran out of laundry detergent though.
They are waiting for their clothes to dry just butt ass naked because… if I’m being honest and was is Rylands situation I would ditch the clothes. Because I’m a weirdo.
Comet is learning so much about humans, even though Carl is clearly trying to trick him. Because humans have an immune system that would get rid of ink and it's not like Comet can see it. So, Carl is lying. Tattoos aren't real. It makes no sense.
Carl is a liar.
I had too much fun messing around with Carl's tattoos though. It sucks because my favorite ones are on his arms and you can’t see them very well.
The Eridian, Comettaps, doesn't belong to me! they belong to my amazing moot, @thebrokenmechanicalpencil Go check them out they have so much cool stuff
Once again, messing around with a project Hail Mary AU…. With my transformer ocs.
I finally finished the designs for our crew of The Hail Mary!
In order we have, Carl, Eli, and Jussel!
For those who are curious, their actual names (as transformers) are Dropmix, Theremin, and Jeopardy.
Our engineer is Carl, our pilot/leader is Eli, and the poor scientist who got dragged here against their will is Jussel.
Although in this au it’s only Eli who dies in the coma. Why? Because then we get extra drama. How so? Because Carl and Eli have been happily married for many years and watching carl suffer brings me joy. Why would this version of Stratt let them go even though she has the whole “no romance policy?” Because the original other crew member was a married woman and they would have no interest in each other. Because gay.
And now Jussel is there but Carl is like 49 and Eli is 54 or something. Jussel is 26. He was literally just an intern who got roped into this project and then got too invested.
So, my beloved moot, @thebrokenmechanicalpencil, and I have been messing around after reading Phm and we have converted our transformer ocs into this universe.
Here I am making silly little comics and doodles about them.
Comettaps (the Eridian) is not my oc! They belong to the tagged mutual and his offical design can be found here at this post!!! <-
I realize that in the movie there is a guy named Carl and I promise this isn’t him. This is the human version of my transformers character, Dropmix. How he got his name is a long story. The other guy here is Jussel.
In this au there are two humans because I said so.
I plan on posting their colored designs later, I just need to finish some things with it. Until then we can enjoy this.
