Meanwhile, back through the rabbit hole, past the table that is standing wobbly on legs that were hammered in poorly with nails, and through the hole in the ceiling that still needs to be repaired, the forest is bustling and buzzing with the sounds of mayhem. Small animals skitter and scurry away, panic in their hearts as they try to hide wherever they can. Some scurry up trees, some burrow into the earth, and some blend in with the foliage.

  But some are unlucky. Some once ruled at the top of their niche, being too large to be threatened by the smaller predators, but also being too small to be worth the time of the larger ones. This allowed them to move about their niche, relatively uncontested, small rulers in a part of the much larger pond that was rarely visited by the larger rulers. With no ability to climb, or to burrow, or to blend in, they were easy pickings for the new top predators.

  Frantic feet scrabbles through the foliage in an attempt to catch the barest amount of extra speed, claws digging into the earth with every step. A deinonychus bursts out of the foliage, its feathery flank puffed up to look larger and its heart racing, adrenaline pumping through its system. It sprints away from the danger as fast as it can, its eyes dashing this way and that to find the fastest route away.

  It missteps and snags its foot against a tree root, which trips its leg out from underneath it. Its gait disrupted, it falls, letting out a pained cry as it crashes hard against the unforgiving forest floor. It tries to scramble back up to its feet but collapses, a twinge of pain in its leg causing it to collapse to the ground once again every time it tries to stand. It continues to scurry away as fast as it can, managing to finally get its feet under itself once again.

  It continues to hobble, its heart starting to calm down after its frantic dash. After a few more quiet moments, it slows down and stops, glancing around itself to see if it’s still being pursued. The forest is still and quiet, not a single living thing remaining within the area. Not a bird chirps, not a creature scurries. The only sounds in the forest are the leaves and branches swaying in the breeze, and the deinonychus’s frantic breaths.

  It starts to relax, slowing down and feeling more secure once again. The nightmare that was the last few minutes seems to fade away and become nothing more than a terrible memory. It bends down to look at its foreleg more carefully, licking it in an attempt to soothe the pain radiating out from it. Bending its neck back up, it looks around for a good spot to lie down and recover. Out in the distance, it finds the perfect spot; shaded and hidden from any opportunistic hunters.

  It starts to hobble its way towards the spot, keeping an eye out for anything that could potentially chase it any further. Its instincts calm down, letting it know that it’s definitely safe. The gigantic, horrifying being has clearly lost interest in it.

  It reaches its resting spot and lays down, ruffling its feathers and flattening them back into place. It tilts its head from side to side, checking over the many wounds that it has accumulated during the scuffle. A few deep gouges were taken out of its flank that were still bleeding, a few minor scratches across its arms and legs. But the main injury was its right leg, the one that it snagged on the root during its frantic dash. It gives it another few licks, soothing the pain just that little bit but not enough to make a difference. It’s going to need a few days to recover. Luckily for it, it ate its fill recently, so it can spare the time to recover without worrying about needing to hunt.

  Unfortunately for it, and for the recovery that it desperately needs, a gentle sound out in the distance is rapidly coming closer. It lifts its head up swiftly, tilting its head and straining to pick up what exactly it could be.

  Its heart speeds up, its pupils narrowing and its feathers puffing up as it hears a gentle “twip-twip-twip” rapidly approaching it. It tries to scramble up to its feet in order to continue its mad sprint, but its leg twinges in pain, collapsing underneath it as the terrifying thing finally reaches it.

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  The fluffy baby jumps into the air, crashing into the deinonychus with some force. Luckily for the deinonychus, the baby waits too long to bring up its claws, too excited at catching up to its prey once again to plan out its pounce beforehand. Its claws skid across the deinonychus’s hide painfully, but they’re shallow, bleeding only slightly with no real risk to its continued survival. What could have been a fatal pounce has now turned into a frantic melee.

  The deinonychus scrambles with its legs, trying to dislodge the ravenous baby from its flank so that it could either bring its powerful jaws into play, or its signature sickle-shaped talon. If it could just get its leg up and underneath the baby, it could gut it and be done with this nightmare. But while the baby which was currently clinging to its hide, punching holes in its flank with its sharp beak, is about half of its size; it still has the element of surprise and the superior position on its side.

  The deinonychus, while trying desperately to twist around, wonders why this is happening to it. What twist of fate drove it into this scenario, fighting furiously for its life against a baby fluffball. At least, it would wonder about that, if it ever really cared about “why’s” and “how’s”. It’s a creature of the forest, it understands that there is no need for a reason when it comes to the dance of life and death on this forest floor.

  The deinonychus finally manages to leverage itself into a better position, bringing its powerful jaws around and snapping them down onto the babies’ torso. As it feels its teeth sink into its soft flesh, and tastes the salty tang of its blood filling its mouth, the baby lets out a loud cry of pain.

  If the deinonychus could ask “why?”, and if it ever had the inclination and yearning to understand the reasoning behind its current life-or-death situation, the answer would be:

  Because the baby needs experience if it wants to rule at the top.

  And the best time to accrue experience is while it still has a giant-ass mother to back it up and turn “fatal mistakes” into “happy little accidents”.

  The deinonychus’s blood runs cold as it hears it approach rapidly from the distance: a staccato “thump-thump-thump” that spells out its doom. It lets go of the fluffball and tries its hardest to break free, but it’s too late.

  The mother gigantoraptor breaks through the foliage, her keen nose and piercing eyesight immediately spotting her poor baby and the blood currently staining its perfect, mottled feathers.

  The deinonychus locks eyes with this behemoth and tries to make a break for it, its hurt leg scrambling as fast as it can go. The fluffball lets out a cheerful chirrup as it moves towards its doting mother. The mother herself sprints towards the deinonychus, pinning it down with her talons and gesturing towards her newborn to come closer. It does with glee, learning from its mom the best way to incapacitate and kill prey with the deadly tools it was born with.

  Once the deed is done, and the deinonychus is taken care of, the mother gigantoraptor picks up the body and ensures that her wayward ward is following. She moves back to the site of her nest, finding most of her babies waiting patiently for her to get back. They all chirrup and cry the moment they see her, rushing over and swarming her, jumping up to try and get at the kill.

  She drops it down and they descend upon it like piranhas, tearing massive strips out of it and swallowing it whole. Giving a quick head count, she finds two of her babies missing, and for a moment, a pang of worry comes over her. But just as this one called to her, the others will as well. At some point, she expects most of her children to be gone and away from her while she’s not hunting, spending most of their time honing their own skills and practicing what they have seen from her.

  If she could sigh, she would. Nobody said that motherhood would be easy. But nobody told her that it would be a never-ending sprint from one crises to the next.

  A cry calls out from the left of her. One of her missing babies, calling for help. Without hesitation, the mother sprints off into the forest to the next crises, thanking the fact that they’re still too young to venture too far away from her.