Hell Creek Diaries: Ghost

The thescelo freezes, sensing danger. His head whips around, looking in every direction. The desire to mate is off his mind now, for good reason. Death is not very far away. It comes stalking on delicate feet, with long tail feathers brushing silently through the ferns. It watches him through piercing, amber eyes. Dakotaraptor is a dromaeosaur, a birdlike creature covered in feathers. These feathers are white on her chest and brown on her body. Also known as a ghosthawk for her elusiveness, this female has a length of five meters, weighs up to 440 pounds, and can live up to 15 years.

The thunderstorm begins to intensify. For the hunter and hunted, the surreal nightly experience of the storm mean two completely different things. For the thescelo, the blistering winds and cracking thunder prevent him from hearing the approach of danger. To compensate, he becomes alert. Almost paranoid, even. Lightning bolts rip through the sky, illuminating clouds and trees. The sound wave, coming with a slight delay, shakes the earth and sends a tingle through the spine of the ghosthawk. For her, the rumble of thunder muffles her footsteps. She stalks closer, ducking into a ditch in order to hide, belly feathers pressed to the ground. The thescelo raises his head, wandering closer to her. He soon reaches her strike zone. Muscles tensing, the ghosthawk prepares to spring like a jungle cat. But before she can move, the thescelo lets out a high pitched bark. She has been spotted.
Instinctively the raptor straightens, ending her stalk. Sure enough, her quarry has eyes locked on her. He doesn't run, as the raptor is not as dangerous when he can see her. Even for skilled predators such as herself, the most important part of the hunt is the stalk, the part when she must keep her prey unaware of her very existence.

Experience tells the ghosthawk once the prey spots her, the hunt is over. Oh how she dislikes the shrill barking of prey that have grown aware of her. Now every other creature in the area knows she is around! Not even a full minute passes before the squawking of birds in trees starts up. Countless small mammals in trees give their own squeaks of alarm. The ghosthawk does not have to look up. She already feels all the small eyes of the bush trained on her from above. Yet, she does not become angry, even as the alarm calls spread through the woods. She has no time to be angry. Instead, she slinks off, in search of a better opportunity. The male thescelo watches as the ghost of Hell Creek draws back into the ferns.