The sun hung high in the bright blue sky, casting warm rays over the Great Valley. The lush foliage rustled in the gentle breeze, and the distant calls of dinosaurs echoed through the air. Cera, the headstrong Threehorn, trotted through the landscape, her eyes sharp with curiosity. Today wasn't just another ordinary day—it was a day for adventure.
But adventure, as she was about to learn, sometimes had teeth.
A sudden chill ran down her spine. A small Sharptooth had wandered into the area, and it had spotted her. Its piercing yellow eyes locked onto her, and with a growl, it lunged forward.
"Oh, great!" Cera bellowed, her heart leaping into her throat. She bolted, kicking up dirt behind her. "Why is it always me?!"
The Sharptooth was fast—faster than she expected—but Cera had one thing on her side: her wits. Up ahead, a fallen log stretched over a deep chasm, the only bridge between her and safety. Without hesitation, she charged across, her hooves pounding against the wood.
As soon as she reached the other side, an idea sparked. She grinned, turned sharply, and slammed her head against the log. The impact sent cracks racing along its length before the whole thing teetered and tumbled into the depths below.
The Sharptooth skidded to a stop, growling in frustration.
Cera smirked. "Ha! Not so tough now, huh?"
She turned around, lifted her tail and started wiggling her rump at the stranded predator.
"Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!"
She kept wiggling, her tail flicking playfully. The Sharptooth snarled, pacing at the edge. Amused by her own antics, Cera continued her little victory dance—until the Sharptooth suddenly crouched.
Her smug expression vanished.
"Oh, no."
With a powerful leap, the Sharptooth soared over the gap. Cera barely had time to yelp before it landed with a thud right behind her.
"Oh, COME ON!"
She turned and ran.
Zigzagging through the rocky terrain, she tried to shake her pursuer, but the Sharptooth was relentless. Spotting another log up ahead—this one hollow—she made a split-second decision and dove in.
Her front half slid through with ease.
Her back half… not so much.
Cera grunted and wiggled, but her sturdy Threehorn hips were stuck fast. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!"
She kicked her legs wildly. "This is NOT happening!"
A slow, deliberate growl sent a shiver down her spine.
The Sharptooth had caught up.
Cera clenched her eyes shut. "Okay, okay, Cera, think! What do Threehorns do in situations like this?"
Usually, they fought. But it was kind of hard to fight when half of her was wedged inside a log.
Instead of an attack, however, something strange happened.
The Sharptooth didn't bite. It didn't claw. It didn't even try to pull her out.
It licked her.
A slow, wet drag of its tongue, from her rump to the tip of her tail.
Cera froze.
Her eyes went wide. "What. Was. THAT?!"
She tried to twist around, but the log held her firm. "Did—did you just LICK me?!"
The Sharptooth huffed, seemingly satisfied with itself, and then—without a word, without a second glance—it turned and walked away.
Just like that.
Cera lay there, her brain scrambling to process what had just happened. "Wait! You're not gonna eat me?!"
The Sharptooth paused briefly, gave her a glance that she really didn't know how to interpret, then disappeared into the trees.
For a long moment, Cera just sat there, stuck in the log, her mouth hanging open.
Then the embarrassment hit.
"Ohhhh, when I get out of here—!"
With one final, furious kick, she yanked herself free, tumbling onto the ground in a heap. Huffing, she shook the dirt off and flicked her tail, still feeling the ghost of the lick.
Her face burned.
"Ugh. I am NEVER telling anyone about this."
And with that, she stomped off, determined to forget the very weirdest encounter of her life.