Arrow Lake It becomes perfect when you learn to accept it for what it is
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He was hidden beneath a fern, breathing hard and fast in the tropical misty air. His eyes, situated either side of his head so he could see an incredible 180 degrees to the front of him, darted around in search of his pursuer. A long, thin tail whipped nervously behind him. He adjusted his posture, flexing his long claws and clutching his short forelegs closer to his chest. A rumbling growl sounded from overhead. He looked up, his breath faltering, and saw the colossal eye of the Tyrannosaurus looking down at him, pupil constricting, jaws slavering—

Dragomir protested this unjust turn in his story with a series of tiny yips, his little black body quailing momentarily. There was nothing for it but to flee. In his mind's eye this was a heroic chase scene across hissing geyser fields and deep prehistoric forests. In the real world, this was Dragomir flailing his limbs around and going nowhere. He turned in a circle instead, wearing a small dent into the soft den floor. He grunted and strained, throwing all his effort into this, but to no avail; the little microraptor that was him in his imagination was eaten anyway, an occurrence signalled in the tangible world by his suddenly growing still and gumming at his arm.