The Old Bull Triceratops

The sun rose over hill, forcing the beasts of night to retreat to their hovels. The birds began the songs and searched for grub, small mammals scurried through the undergrowth of small ferns as the rays of the morning sun exposed hiding spots in soil.

Among the waking inhabitants, in a large clearing in the middle of a redwood forest lay an old bull Triceratops. His frill, once pristine and bright in the days of his youth, was now faded and filled with scars. Some were holes from bouts with others of his kind for mating or territory rights, others were chunks ripped out from life-or-death scrapes with the Tyrants of the land, improperly healed. Horns that once saw off mighty foes were blunted by the ravages of time.

He hated the morning, waking up was more of a pain these days, pushing up a 10-ton body in one’s 40s was not a small feat. If it was up to him, he would simply sleep all day in his little clearing of the woods. But he knew that this was a luxury not afforded to him. For with the dawn, many things that would hope for an easy meal would see his sleeping form as the perfect breakfast. Besides, as his stomach reminded him, he did need to eat.

With an irritated snort he lugged his bulk upwards, taking the time to scratch his itchy right nostril against the bark of a redwood tree. He looked around blearily, listening to any vibrations that might indicate there were other big animals nearby. All was silent, that was a good sign, meant he could get a start on some of the hops that would start to grow around this spring. While he couldn’t smell very well, he had lived long enough to know where they frequently grew. While he was surrounded by ferns, low cycads and other available plants, hops had a nice bitter taste, and their aroma kept the bugs away from his skin. It didn’t hurt that his battery of teeth didn’t replace as fast these days, so softer plants were more necessary.

As he trudged along to his destination, he paid no mind to the small things hurrying out of his way. His massive grey and rusty toned skin breaking up scattering light. To his annoyance, several small birds chose to perch on his horns, rather, what was left of them. He considered shaking them off but then felt like it would be too much effort. Besides, if they smelled a predator he couldn’t hear, there would be a call and he could react swiftly.

After a boring 15 minutes of walking, he finally found the hops. They had wrapped themselves around the trunk of a young birch tree. That would be annoying, he never liked the feeling of his beak on wood, but since it was a young birch, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He looked up and down the birch, it was thin, maybe it would fall over if he pushed his weight against it, then he could forage on the ground at his leisure. Having made his decision, he lowered his head and pushed with all his might on the tree. He felt his body ache, this used to be a lot easier, but he felt the trembling in the soil as the roots broke through the surface and the young tree came down to a crash, never to grow tall again. The birds on his horns flew off, startled by the sound, but he didn’t care. Those hops were now his to feast on and he took to them with vigor.

Trimming the hops with his beak, the gluttonously mashed the hops in his 300-tooth battery mouth, the juices of the hops spilling out of his mouth. After a good 30 minutes of chewing, he noticed that most of the hop was gone, better to let it grow some more. As he turned, he noticed his left hand was wet, he couldn’t smell much, but he did recognize it as the hop juice. As if it was routine, he rubbed his front limbs thoroughly in the juices, then angled himself on three limbs to rub the juices all over his snout. That should give him some form of bug repellant for the rest of day.

As he turned, he felt a series of vibrations in the ground, mixed with calls in the air, calls that sounded like…. females. Well, it was springtime after all, and while he was old, he did have to follow the call of nature. He hadn’t won as many bouts recently, but he could beat a few youngsters. Besides, most of the males he had lost to in the last few years had been his own descendants, if anything, that proved he was strong.

He moved at a hurried pace, disturbing everything in his path, he had even startled a sleeping tyrant which had the sense to saunter away lest he face a bull in an amorous quest. Breathing heavily, the bull finally made it to the clearing and gazed upon a most enriching sight. Females, many that did not have their young with them. Many of the infants he saw bore his old patterns from his youth. Good, that means he wouldn’t have to kill them this year. The available females turned to him, some recognized him, some likely had come from further north to join this spring gathering for the first time.

He gave an announcing bellow, declaring himself mighty. He was proud of his bellow, he had practiced it to sound deep and imposing, it was the one part of him that hadn’t weakened. Many of the smaller males that had sized him up retreated, avoiding his gaze. Good, one hurdle cleared, his main concern were the males that didn’t back down from his intimidation display.

As if on cue, a large 7-ton male, frill colours of bright chestnut lowered his head to him. Swaying side to side, a challenge statement. This male was not as heavy as he was, but while his frill seemed pristine, it had scrape marks running up its sides. This male had fought off predators; this would not be as easy. The old bull matched the young male, lowering his head and rumbling his throat in answer to the challenge. The two Triceratops matched a tempo, swaying their heads in a slow motion, each trying to show the other their prize scars and their fitness. This 2nd stage had one the old bull many competitions without fighting. There had even been a year when he entered with a cleanly split frill, giving him the look of a tree split down the middle.

Others had come to watch the challenge. Out the corner of his eye he spotted many other large herbivores at the edge of the meeting point. What concerned him most, however, was the sight of the Tyrant he had awoken further down, simply watching. This was typical behaviour for them, wait to eat the loser if he was badly wounded. Just as many years before, that would not be his fate even should he lose.

He returned his gaze to the young challenger. He noticed that his challenger had very long horns, longer than ones he had during his youth. This challenger also bore some of his colour, a good sign, he was fighting another of his offspring. No shame in a possible loss then. To his mixed pleasure & dismay the young challenger stared at him, not perturbed in the slightest. It looked like it would indeed be a fight them.

The ground shook as the two massive 10-foot-tall beasts locked horns. Their frills clanging against each other like heavy wooden shields. The old bull found that the challenger was pushing him back, he had more strength despite having less bulk. The old bull lowered his hips, moving his center of gravity downward, and stopped the challenger’s forward movement. The challenger looked startled, and the old bull seized on the opportunity to use his weight to shrug off the challenger. Both backed away and circled each other. The first round had ended.

The old bull looked at the challenger more thoroughly, he had greater strength, but the fact he had been surprised by a simple maneuver told the old bull that he had no technique at all. He had probably fought predators more than he fought his own kind, and that held different rules altogether. He thought about that and lowered his frill, signaling to his opponent that he was ready to begin round 2. The fact that the challenger was the 2nd to answer was also in his favour, and the females looked at the old bull approvingly. Even should he ultimately lose, he had still proved himself capable, and that would net him at least a few females.

As the younger male came at him, the old bull angled his head 25 degrees sideways, giving an uneven horn lock between him and the challenger. This was a dangerous move, and the challenger’s right horn cut a small valley through his cheeks, the blood was flowing slowly, it would heal. The challenger was startled, he hadn’t expected to draw blood in this manner, and to his horror, he noticed that the old bull had locked his left horn. He was having trouble pulling away, the old bull turned his head more, and with a loud CRACK, the challenger found himself staring at the remains of his left horn on the ground.

The old bull gave a triumphant snort, hiding just how much that technique had exhausted him to pull off. His best hope was that the youngster would be demoralized by the loss of his horn and exit the match. The horn would grow another layer of keratin eventually, and he would have another chance. But to his irritation & pride, the challenger lowered his frill to call for a third round, even with one functional horn. The old bull knew he would have to answer; the females and the tyrant were watching.

The third round began with another clang, the old bull swiftly found himself being pushed back. The challenger was filled with the fury and vigor of the young, and this was the worst time for the old bull’s aches to flare up again. He had already scored two tricks, and couldn’t think of a third that would ultimately deter this opponent. It would have to be a straight up test of strength this time.

In this, even though he was lighter, the challenger had a lot of experience fighting opponents bigger than he was and it showed. The old bull tried the hip trick once more, but that failed to stop a ready and angry one horned 7-ton youngster. His back feet were slipping as they tried to gain leverage, and in a moment of desperation, he lifted his head high, stabbing through the top of the challenger’s frill with his left horn, exposing his throat. His opponent was lifted off the ground mere millimeters for a few seconds, before crashing down, the force snapping the old bull’s own horns from the jolt. The splinters of hardened bone went flying, and a piece implanted itself into the challenger’s right eye. He bellowed in pain, as the old bull quickly recovered and slammed into his left side with his now blunt horn stumps, bowling him over with his greater 10-ton weight.

Not giving his cyclops of an opponent time to react properly, he clamped his beak around his opponent’s mouth, closing it shut. He glared into the challenger’s working eye, blood dripping from his fresh cheek wound onto his clearly defeated opponent. His opponent stared furiously back, making attempts to shove him off with his left arm, it was to no avail, however. The old bull pressed his weight further, and with a look of submission, the challenger gave a rumble of withdrawal.

The watching crowd gave multiple calls of approval as the old bull released his grip, allowing the defeated opponent to get to his feet. The old bull inspected his opponent’s right eye. The splinter had been broken off by the fall, and while there was some redness, it looked like he wasn’t fully blinded. It would likely heal, and he had given a very good fight, sometimes these things did come down to pure luck. Hopefully the younger male would continue to grow strong and pick up his own tricks.

The old bull looked up to see the Tyrant in the distance, staring at him. He snorted at it; the Tyrant wouldn’t have either of them this day and he knew it. The Tyrant turned its head to the left and walked away to find a less boisterous meal. The old bull felt extremely tired, he really wanted to sleep, but then he saw the expectant females and decided, sleep could wait a while longer, he deserved some fun.