Blasedon- You the One

by Lew Sethics

62 million years, 170 days, 12 hours, 4.53 minutes ago:  river of sand, doomed mesa:

    “So, DinoNychus, prithee say, what is thy invention?” quered BlaseDon, ruffling his feathers.
    “Killing for fun.” replied DinoNychus darkly.
    “Oh?  Oh my!  Stay thy wrath, we but converse, as non-adversaries!” BlaseDon honked worriedly.
    “Non-adversaries” chuckled DinoNychus, “why not.  You would probably taste like you look.”
    “We hear Meifumado is Necromancing.” trilled BlaseDon, “Her first batch of experiment mutated into rotting corpses.  She looked for a second batch of volunteers, but most of the applicants ended up eating the first  experiment while they were waiting for their interview  and they got sick from the residual voodoo pharmaecopia and went into an hallucinogenic fugue, returning from some (reptilian mind)  tar-pit and claiming to be reborn as vegetarians and eschewing their natural food, which is living meat.  They are jumping in the river like Crocodilians and calling it “baptising” and one of them claims to be a prophet and is saying that the end is near, he points to the skies and insists our doom is approaching even as we speak, and we should all prepare and fast and we will go to a new world, reborn in perfect bodies, to live forever in peace and harmony in some place called the middle east.”
    “Well I’ll be Cretaceous!” DinoNychus chuckled “I would suppose that could count as necromancy, in a feathered dinosaur kind of way.  But we’ll know after they’ve had a few meals.”
    “A few…  Oh!  Yes! A few meals!  Well said, DinoNychus!”
    BlaseDon stretched his neck as far as it would stretch, eyes focused on the heavens, forelimbs held out to either side like a bugs wings, and ran in a circle with DinoNychus at the focus, cackling like he was choking on a small mammal.
    Dino Nychus couldn’t let BlaseDon get behind him. Literally.  It was a genetic thing.  So DinoNychus turned as BlaseDon circled him, evolving sweat glands in the effort to refrain from killing this rude feathered popinjay.
    BlaseDon stopped dead in his tracks and ruffled his feathers, an affectation that was designed to espark the ladies, but only served to stoke DinoNychus’ simmering aggressiveness, which terrified BlaseDon, causing him to ruffle his feathers in earnest, which in turn aggravated DinoNychus to no end, and when DinoNychus bellowed in rage in preparation to pounce, BlaseDon ran for all he was worth in the direction of a herd of PREY.  Maybe the raptor would be diverted by the sight and smell of food.
    The Triceratops bulls did their ring-of-defense defense, and one of them called to BlaseDon: “You suck, BlaseDon” as BlaseDon ran among them, he being an insectivore and thus allowed certain priveliges.
    The enraged Raptor applied the brakes and opened the release valve on his emotional boiler, a roar venting his killing lust.
    When what passes for Saurian sanity returned to DinoNychus’ eyes, one of the bigger bulls calls to him and says “Hi Di.” and nods.
    “Hi Tri,” says DinoNychus, mutual repect between predator and prey.  Damn hard to get by a Triceratops defense, but few things were as tasty as baby-tops fresh from hatching.  Maybe next time.
    “You guys are allowed to accidentally step on that sonofabitch to death you know.” he said.
    “Haha” said Triceratops and shit 55 gallons for effect.
    Some of the other bulls joined in the shitting, laughing all the way.
    “Jeez”  cried BlaseDon, trying to navigate his way around a flowing mass of ooze, trying not to soil his fine coat, or his spats.
    He lept upon the back of one of the smaller bulls, and then went jumping hop-scotch to and fro as the bucks bucked, angered by his non-symbiotic familiarity.
    DinoNychus paced the periphery, looking for purchase on BlaseDon, who had to keep moving and had to choose between being killed by DinoNychus for fun or drowning in a lake of Triceratops shit.
    BlaseDon saw a path form across the backs of the Tris, going deeper into their mass about a hundred backs strong, away from Dino Nychus, to over there somewhere.
    Forelimbs held at angles to his body for balance (and in case any BlaseDonnas watch his graceful evasions) BlaseDon ran for all he was worth atop the mass of seething Triceratops, who were deep into the Circle-Shit-and-Laugh Dance of their race.
    His Feathers!  He coasted for a few paces at a time as the feathers on his forelimbs gave him some lift. 
    Three, four, five beasts at a time he would span at a step, and freedom drew nearer and nearer.
    Suddenly, he cleared the last of the huge beasts and found himself on the other side of… NOTHING!
    The herd ended at this spot because the world ended at this spot.
    He was at the edge of a mesa and there was a sudden drop with ground far, far below, where dozens of opportunists of various species were sharing a friendly meal of “Over-the-Tops.” 
    “This is as good a time to invent SOARING as any.” BlaseDon thought as he stretched every feather out from lips to butthole to catch air and slow his descent into the valley below.
    “LEAN! LEAN!” he thought furiously and leaned away from the land and into the air, contrary to every instinct in his land-lubbing existance.  His fall flattened into a spiral and a huge grin spread across BlaseDon’s horn-like beak.
    “I’M EVOLVING. HAHA.  I’M EVOLVING!”  he ululated and chirped as he contrived to keep every feather in place lest he lose lift and crash to the feasters below.
    Below. Nonono.  Don’t want to go there.  Turn toward the cliff, find something to grab onto, and try to climb back up to my territory.
    Idiot!  Flap your wings like a flutterby!  They go wherever they want!
    NO!  I CAN ONLY TRY ONE NEW THING AT A TIME! NO! NO!  I’LL JUST SOAR, THANK YOU!  I’LL JUST SOAR OVER TO THAT OUTCROPP OF ROCK, WITH THAT LITTLE TREE, GRAB THE TREE.  HA!  SAFE FROM THOSE ABOVE, AND SAFE FROM THOSE BELOW.

    Up above, at the edge of the cliff, DinoNychus looked over the edge with some of the Triceratops. 
    “What did he just do?” asked one of the older Tris.
    “I think he screamed loud enough to keep himself afloat until he reached that tree over there” chuckled DinoNychus, who allowed triceratops cubs to sneak up and touch him, and pretended not to notice.
    “Well, the feathers thing was pretty cool, but not original,”  opined Archeaopteryx, “but if he can do that flying thing, he’s gonna win this epoch’s Darwin Award.”
    “No. Somebody else is already doing that flying thing.  What was their name?  The beetles?  The animals?”
    “The birds.” 
    “Yeah but, he just crawled into that cave there.” screamed Corythosaurus for all to hear.

    “Jeez, I gotta piss!” BlaseDon hurried into the cave for some privacy, not wanting anyone to see that most of his feathers were glued on.  Glued on to hide his shame: fur!