Mar 21, 2020
And there's lesson the first: never assume your enemy is less intelligent than you.
The Dinosaur Princess, by Victor Milán
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And there's lesson the first: never assume your enemy is less intelligent than you.
The Dinosaur Princess, by Victor Milán
I had that the moment I first heard of your little problem. In my prior life, before I was made noble for my sins, I was a dinosaur master. Meaning I still am, but now I get to put on airs and drink tea with extended pinky. If I drank tea, which thanks to the Lady Maris I do not. What I needed to know was how best to implement my cunning plan.
The Dinosaur Princess, by Victor Milán
"I'm hearing blasphemy," Selena croaked. "We're all having a trying day, Mora," Karyl said.
The Dinosaur Princess, by Victor Milán
"We have a child to save," Florian said. He smiled, "That's what we do. We're fucking heroes."
The Dinosaur Princess, by Victor Milán
Karyl stood a moment gazing sternly down at her. Melodía saw the monster roll her scarlet eye to look up at him beneath the short horn-like flange in front of it. Shaking his head, Karyl knelt. He scratched a sensitive nostril, murmuring to her in unfamiliar liquid syllables Melodía took for Parso, the language of his mother's people, with whom he'd spent a great deal of time during his exile from the Misty March. Shiraa raised her head slightly. He reached to scratch beneath one brow-horn. Shiraa trilled and nuzzled him lovingly. "Aww," Melodía said. The armies of the Empire erupted in the day's loudest applause.
The Dinosaur Princess, by Victor Milán
Rob Korrigan–Sir Rob, now, Baron Rob If-You-Please–was drunk. Not just drunk. Not tipsy. Not shitfaced. Gloriously, rousingly, thunderously drunk. As only a goblin-brew of fatigue poisons, the exhilaration of sheer unexpected survival, and liters of better booze than he'd ever dreamed existed could make him drunk. /And, well,/ he thought, /I am shitfaced. That too./
The Dinosaur Knights, by Victor Milán
Karyl had taught her that: until you're dead, there's always a way.
The Dinosaur Knights, by Victor Milán
/Mommy! Shiraa comes! Shiraa good girl!/ As she crept forward she saw her mother fighting. She fought well, as the mother of a matadora naturally would. She killed a terrible, grey Great Hunger that must have been twice the size of its albino cousin who had blindsided Shiraa that awful day, hurt Shiraa, and taken away her mother. She smelled that one too. The coward. But vengeance would wait. Only Mommy mattered now. But now her mother faced a great big tailless two-legs. She showed no fear. Yet something about that tall, grey two-legs caused fear to trickle from Shiraa's spine down into her belly. Her mother kept fighting. She bit one hand clean off the tall, scary two-legs. The bad grey thing struck her. /Struck her mother./ That shit was /not/ happening. Roaring her own name, Shiraa rose from cover and charged in loving, white-hot rage.
The Dinosaur Knights, by Victor Milán