Spinosaurus paddles through the water with its short feet, its curved sail sticking straight out of the surface like a proud flag. The giant icthyovore wades through the river, fish large and small - Onchopristis, Mawsonia, all fleeing from its presence. It plunders and ravages through the flooded forest, snatching fish here and there, swallowing it hole with a flick of the jaw. A lone turtle does not seem to mind the menacing presence.
A female Spinosaurus arrives to shore. The breeding season has just passed, and now, a day in early autumn, where Alanqa soars overheard and Carcharodontosaurus patrols its territory, you could say that laying eggs is a pain in the arse. It slowly clambers onto dry land, drops of estuarine saltwater dripping from its sail. Clumsily balancing itself on its knucles - claws are precious - it hobbles towards a secluded clearing on the shore. All silent, all good.
A heavy footstep falls nearby.