Velociraptor and Juvenile Tarbosaurus by Guindagear
It’s hard to put a Protoceratops in a tree. It had taken Velociraptor nearly a half an hour to do so, tugging, pulling, hefting the heavy thing. The carcass was floppy and didn’t cooperate; the head shield got caught on a protrusion of bark; the limbs bumped and bounced against the tree like unsynced pendulums.
As soon as the dromaeosaur’s larder was filled—the dead Protoceratops balanced just right—the tarbosaurs came snooping. Dragging a dead dinosaur into a tree is not inconspicuous business, and the juveniles had heard and smelled enough to pique their curiosity and come trotting.
Velociraptor stared down at the two tyrannosaurs. It was safe—tarbosaurs couldn’t climb trees—but it was also stuck—tarbosaurs were excruciatingly patient (through juveniles admittedly less so than adults). They knew one bad tug from a misplaced bite might send the Protoceratops falling from the pantry. Or, if luck was particularly one-sided, the carcass and the Velociraptor could spill from the branch.
And so the three predators stared, occasionally pipping and fluting songs of aggression or ownership at each other, neither side backing away from the meal perched unsecurely in the tree.