Seriama didn't recover from her depression. She wandered through the jungle aimlessly, looking for nothing and expecting nothing to come her way. The baryonyx would show up every now and then to tease her, but she barely noticed their quips and insults. She was broken, and there was nothing on earth that could snap her out of her gloomy mood.
Well, nothing except for Henry's scent.
Seriama sniffed the air, puzzled by the potency of the spinosaurus' trail. It was incredibly condensed, and it made her swoon whenever she inhaled. Forgetting her promise to herself, Seriama followed the smell through the forest. It was clear that Henry had wanted someone to find him; his scent was clearly present on almost every large tree in the jungle.
Seriama paused. She rubbed up against the scented trees, trying to mask the trail somewhat. She didn't want to be followed.
Further evidence of Henry's situation came when Seriama got close enough to hear him. He was making a deep call, and there was no mistaking the particular tone he was going for. Even so, it was a funny sound: rather broken and unfinished, as though he wasn't conscious of what he was doing. Seriama pressed on, hoping that this wasn't the case.
She found Henry in a small glade, lying on his side and groaning miserably. When she saw him, there was no shadow of a doubt that he was waiting for someone. Seriama felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that he'd be disappointed when he found out that it was her. Despite this, she decided to give it one last shot. Things couldn't get worse, after all, and besides: the wafting scent was more than enough to give her courage.
'Hello.'
Henry stood up in alarm and tried to cover his front.
'I'm not feeling well.'
'I noticed.'
'I want to be left alone.'
'That won't help.'
'Go away. I don't want-'
Before he could finish, she began to rub up against his side. To let him speak would be a death sentence, and she couldn't allow him to get away that easily. She walked slowly by his side in a long, drawn-out action. Seriama smiled when she realized that he seemed to be enjoying the gesture. She flicked her tail across his snout playfully. Without warning, he jumped back and snarled.
'Stop! Go away! I don't want you here!'
Seriama tilted her head.
'I think you do . . .'
'I . . . I want . . .'
It didn't take long for Seriama to figure out that she'd won. Henry promptly grabbed her shoulders and climbed onto her back. She leaned forward and began to rock back and forth.
It was a good night, of course, and there was no doubt that both parties enjoyed the act. Henry eventually fell asleep with his chin on her head and his tail entwined with hers, and although Seriama would have liked to know how he planned to proceed with their relationship, she didn't ruin the moment with her pesky questions. Instead, she simply enjoyed the fact that she was currently sleeping beside the most wonderful dinosaur on the island.
Still, she had a few nagging suspicions. She would never bring it up, of course, but there was something troubling her about their union.
Henry had kept his eyes closed the whole time.
Aside from this, Seriama was content. After all, Henry was kind and handsome and sympathetic and . . .
. . . leaving. Henry was leaving! Seriama felt her world come crashing down as she watched him walk away. It had meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him. He was leaving, and he didn't want her, and things were going horribly wrong.
Seriama tossed her head in anguish. When she did, she saw a deer standing very still in the underbrush, its ears pricked in alarm. Quickly, she grabbed it by the neck and bit down hard. It went limp, and she ran after Henry. When she offered him the deer, he took it begrudgingly.
'Fine.'
Fine was good. Fine was fine. She could deal with fine.
It was more than she could hope for, of course. No other dinosaur would think much of her, let alone agree to spend time with her, but Henry was willing to tolerate her presence in exchange for a continuous supply of food. It was understandable. It was excusable.
And it was fine. Perfectly fine.
