Chapter 1 New Dawn Our Earth 49 million years ago -- 15 million years since the mass extinction that saw the end the dinosaurs. All evidence of the environmental havoc left by this event has been erased from the Earth's surface. This is the Eocene or 'dawn of new times' The Earth is now a forest planet -- a lush green paradise covered in tropical and sub-tropical jungle. Sea levels are high, as are global temperatures -- you could swim in the Arctic Sea. Magnolias and fig trees thrive in Alaska, elm and beech forests in Siberia, and in Germany lianas wrap themselves round mighty swamp cypresses. The spread of flowering plants that started in the time of the dinosaurs has continued and the tropical forests are now full of fruit, flowers and scents and the insects that evolved to exploit the flowers continue to thrive. Among the larger vertebrates, however, there is a hangover from the age of the dinosaurs. No large predator has evolved to replace the giant marine reptiles and on land mammals have not been quick to occupy the vacant niches. Instead it is crocodiles that hunt along the waterways and huge predatory birds that comb the forests for prey. But mammals are better prepared for the future. They have stayed small and have begun to diversify. Among a range of fur balls on the heavily forested islands that make up Eocene Europe, there are the first primates, rodents, hoofed plant-eaters, carnivores and some have even taken to the air -- the bats. 5 a.m.: The Quiet Time The Eocene jungle is very still just before sunrise. Around a dark lake the forest stacks up in dense green layers washed with an opaque pre-dawn light. A few large bats flap silently between the upper branches, making their way back to their roosts. The hum from insects seems muted and the occasional haunting screech from a primate in the canopy only emphasizes the silence. Suddenly ripples spread across the surface of the lake and waves appear from nowhere. There is a low rumble, which sends birds squawking from their roosts and mammals scuttling through the undergrowth. A series of huge bubbles erupts from the lake, producing a small, sickly white cloud of gas. Beneath it the water stains red. Then it is over -- a short earthquake that leaves the denizens of the forest jumpy but unharmed. Tremors are common here because the lake sits on a large island in the middle of the western Tethys Sea. To the north lies the giant Eurasian continent and to the south Africa is slowly drifting north, squeezing the Tethys in between and causing volcanic activity across the area. The lake itself is the reason for the bubbles and gas. This is its dark secret. It is about 2 kilometres across and more than 200 metres deep in places. At the very bottom is a dense layer of cold water trapped under a thick layer of warmer water. The cold water is stagnant and full of dissolved carbon dioxide. Every so often gas levels build up to such an extent that, when a tremor mixes the two layers, it can trigger the release of clouds of suffocating carbon dioxide which drift towards the shore. This all makes the lake a very dangerous neighbour. On this morning the cloud released is small, but its effects are deadly. A bat swoops low over the water, plucking a caddis fly out of the air, but as it turns it heads into the cloud of gas. After a few metres its delicate wings crumple and it drops with a small plop into the water. As the cloud reaches the reed and lily beds on the eastern shore it is already beginning to disperse. A palaeotis bird sitting on her nest opens her beak in a silent scream as she is suddenly robbed of oxygen. She shakes her head vigorously and staggers to her feet. Before the cloud can finish the job, it is carried on into the fern and palm stands beyond on the morning breeze. The palaeotis puffs her dark brown plumage and settles back on her nest a little confused. The cloud finally disperses as the ground rises. Here, where the understorey thins beneath huge laurel trees, the leaf litter has been scraped into a huge mound and topped with sticks and branches. Sitting on top of this, making a strange throaty whistle as she sleeps, is a gastornis. She is the largest bird on Earth, a carnivorous giant about 2 metres tall, with a stout, muscular body. She cannot fly, but instead ambushes her prey amongst the dense undergrowth. In the dim light the shape of her huge body is hard to make out under her speckled black feathers, but there is no mistaking her livid red features and pale beak. The beak, in particular, is an awesome sight -- a thick hatchet-shaped weapon that can snap the backbone of a small horse in one bite. She is queen of the jungle. The gastornis was undisturbed by the tremor and oblivious to the gas cloud. She is a day-time hunter and slumbers through the night, stirring only at dawn. All around her in the forest other diurnal creatures sleep on, unaware of the close brush some have had with death. 6 a.m.: A Dawn Start Sunrise and, because of rain in the night, the forest begins to steam. High in the canopy a thick mist hangs between the trees, tinged orange by the dawn light. Lower down, the branches and leaves splinter the light into rays that pierce through the dark forest floor. A little distance from the lake a huge strangler fig stands lashed to the ground by its web of branches. Deep inside the laurel tree it originally grew on has long since been killed. This makes a perfect shelter for a mother leptictidium and her two babies. Her nest is raised well off the ground, dry and the entrance protected by an impossible maze of fig roots. Inside the family are preparing for their morning hunt. Leptictidium are creatures of habit and the day always starts with a frantic washing session. The mother's long pink nose twitches as she works methodically over her soft brown fur. As she shifts to an inspection of her long hopping feet her youngsters play with her naked tail. After one of them nips it, she stops grooming and scrambles out into the moist morning air. The youngsters follow obediently. Leptictidium are common in this forest and several different species can be seen bounding through the undergrowth after insects and lizards. This mother belongs to the largest species, measuring almost a metre from her nose to the tip of her tail. She pauses for a moment to sniff for danger and then bounces off through the fig roots. On its branch an owl puffs up its long ribbon-like plumage and watches them go. All leptictidium have a hunting trail that they follow through the undergrowth. Every morning and every evening they work their way round the trail catching food and clearing any obstacle that falls across their path. Should a predator ambush them these trails become their escape routes. Today they will be used well. The three little mammals move swiftly through the steamy forest floor bouncing on their long back legs. The trail takes them down towards the lake and on to a small silt beach. The mother stops for a moment and then snaps at a large stag beetle on a log. She holds the wriggling insect firmly in her hands, while her sharp teeth make short work of it. The two youngsters gather round to taste the food from her lips. It is just two weeks since they were born and they are already being weaned. They must learn quickly how to hunt for themselves. Their progress slows as they near the lake ,with the mother finding more insects on which to feed. The trail also takes them along the top of the beach and, in this more exposed environment, the mother stops frequently to check for danger. There is a quiet in the air and her nose and whiskers quiver nervously. It turns out her caution is justified. A brief flash of red in a nearby tea bush is followed the snap of a branch and the female gastornis bursts from her hiding place. In three strides she is on her prey, snatching at them with resounding cracks of her huge beak. But the leptictidium started moving the moment the mother saw the flash of red and, bounding at full pelt, they just escape the lethal beak. With astonishing speed they head back up their trail through the fig roots and into the safety of their nest. The gastornis is left standing and, after a couple more strides, she loses interest in the hunt. She is too big to be a pursuit predator here; she relies more on ambush amid the dense forest. The gastornis turns and struts down to the lake shore. With a low mist swirling round her clawed feet, her black speckled plumage and her menacing red-stained face, her distinguished ancestry is clear. She is a return to the age of carnivorous therapod dinosaurs, giant killers that once stalked the land on two legs. But in this new age she is a creature out of time. There are many other predators around, such as walking crocodiles and small but powerful creodont mammals. The gastornis is the biggest of all of them, but in contrast to the time of the dinosaurs there are no giant herbivores for her to feast on. She has to work hard for her living. The giant lets out a long rasping call that echoes round the still dark lake and harks back to a lost time. 9 a.m.: End of the First Shift By mid morning the mist is long gone and the combination of high sun and dense greenery makes the air stiflingly humid. The forest here is typical of the tropical jungle that swathes most of this warm planet. The flowering plants that only started their evolution towards the end of the time of the dinosaurs are now dominant. Although a few ferns and cypresses hold on, the canopy is full of laurel, walnut, beeche palm and dogwood. Climbers such as grapevines honeysuckles and moonseeds wrap round these trees, while below magnolias, mulberries, tea and citrus bushes fight for light. The variety on display is bewildering, but the things that would really confuse a time-travelling dinosaur are the colours and the smells. The jungle is full of flowers and fruits, and in the morning heat their scent is overpowering. The green and brown dinosaur world of ferns and conifer needles has gone for ever. This seismic change in the flora is reflected in the type of animals that thrive here. The canopy is abuzz with wasps and bees. Among the branches and on the ground small mammals and birds grow fat on a diet of large fruit and soft flowers -- gone is most of the rough, resin-filled fare on which dinosaur plant eaters had to survive. This is a new Eden, a colorful scented world full of small animals -- completely different from the age of the dinosaurs. Under the canopy the darkness is broken by patches of magnesium-white light, where the sun breaks through to the forest floor. A timid propalaeotherium horse tugs at a moonseed illuminated by one such ray of light. He is keen to draw it into the shadows where his dark dappled back will provide the secuirty of camouflage. A scuffle at the edge of the clearing sends the propalaeotherium scampering off into the camellias. The leptictidium mother bounces into the clearing and stops to wrestle with a lizard she has just caught. The two youngsters catch up and tug at the unfortunate reptile. Suddenly the lizard's brightly coloured tail pops off and starts to thrash about among the leaves. The youngsters leap back, pause and then pursue the tail with a series of hunting moves they have seen their mother perform. She meanwhile holds tightly onto the lizard's body and, after a firm bite to the back of the neck, it goes limp in her hands. She then heads off again for the nest. The youngsters follow, abandoning the tail to flick around by itself in the clearing. It is the end of the leptictidiums' morning hunt and the family disappear under the strangler fig for their midday sleep. Inside the nest the mother finishes eating the lizard -- although the youngsters will learn to hunt from her, she will never kill prey for them. They continue to try to suckle, but she is rapidly losing patience. Their time within her nest is running out -- they will soon have to learn to be independent For now, however, they all curl up and go to sleep. Down by the lake, swifts dart across the surface, striking at the columns of mating insects. A python slips through the water lilies, heading for shore to digest a baby crocodile it has just caught. Nearby a much larger wake also heads for the shore. Just before it reaches the bank there is a splash and the top of a long brown head pops out of the water. At a glance it could be mistaken for a large crocodile, since there are plenty of those in the lake. But a closer look reveals that it is covered in a layer of fur and that there are whiskers bristling round its dark nose. Its eyes scan the bank and then, as it draws itself out onto the silt, it becomes clear that this extraordinary beast is nothing like a crocodile. Thick short hair covers its entire body and large webbed feet make it move awkwardly on land. This is a male ambulocetus, part of a bizarre group of mammals that have evolved to take advantage of similar niche to crocodiles, hunting animals along the water's edge. They evolved on the Eurasian coast to the east of this forest and it is very rare to see one on the European islands However, the jungle round the lake is full of bite-sized prey, so the ambulocetus should not be short of food. This male is about 4 metres long, not quite fully grown. He slides into position, half in and half out of the water, in a patch of sedge that disguises his body. Then he settles down and waits. The ambulocetus's hunting method requires a lot of patience. They have developed a special jaw and ear apparatus that is very sensitive to vibration. By resting their head on the ground they can sense the approach of prey and time their attack perfectly. Unfortunately, this does mean they have to wait for their victims to come to them. In the oppressive heat of mid-morning the ambulocetus starts his unique vigil. A huge flying ant lands on his forehead and explores the drying fur round his neck, but he does not move. After about half an hour a propalaeotherium appears from the undergrowth. She stands motionless in the shadows, her ears twitching. Then she nervously picks her way down to the lake to drink. Every few sips she looks around, alert to the slightest moves that would betray a predator. She is drinking just 2 metres from the stationary ambulocetus, but that is still too far for his purposes. Only when a large splash amongst the lilies sends the little horse jumping back does the predator make his move. With a flurry of dust and leaves, a huge fang-filled mouth slashes sideways. But the horse was never near enough and, leaping high into the air, she disappears off into the jungle. The ambulocetus decides to abandon his hunting, as the daytime temperatures are getting too high. He turns and slips into the water. After pushing off from the shore, a few sweeps of his webbed feet bring him to the deep, dark water that occupies most of the lake. Then his body and short tail fall into a series of slow, up-and-down undulations that propel him through the water without the use of his limbs. This movement is very distinctive of these new semi-aquatic mammals and will one day be the trademark of their descendants, the whales. Below the ambulocetus, a crocodile moves past, its tail beating from side to side. The two do not bother each other. 12 noon: The Swarming In the direct sunlight the temperature continues to climb into the blistering 40s but under the shade of the canopy it peaks in the lower 30s. In their strangler-fig nest the leptictidium no longer lie bundled together: instead they are stretched out, breathing fast to keep cool. Beneath the laurel with its massive buttressed roots, the gastornis has returned to her nest. In the centre lies a single large blue-green egg which she has been incubating for weeks. Today for the first time it is making a noise. With her fearsome beak she gently turns it, revealing a small hole worked by the chick as it starts the monumental task of breaking out of its shell prison. The pointed end of a small yellow beak appears in the hole and then a round purple tongue accompanied by a sharp rasping call. The mother gastornis will not assist in this hatching, which could take the chick several hours; instead she checks round her nest for intruders and heads back into the forest to find fresh meat for her new arrival. As she does so a large flying ant lands on the egg, awkwardly folds its silvery wings and starts exploring the nest. About 50 metres away from the nest and deeper into the forest, a propalaeotherium is enjoying a harvest of overripe grapes. Although only 60 centimetres long, he stands on his hind legs and reaches up over a metre to gorge himself on the moldy clusters hanging off the vine. His little hoofed paws are incapable of grasping anything, but he can easily pluck the fruit with his muzzle. Suddenly he drops and freezes, his ears rigid. Despite the blistering temperatures and the clear blue sky above, he can hear a sound like gentle rain. Slowly it gets louder and the horse bolts. He is followed by a pangolin and several lizards, all fleeing from the sound. Soon the forest floor beneath the grapes has spiders and several large insects, such as cockroaches and grasshoppers, scrambling after the larger animals. Eventually the reason for the panic and the sound of rain becomes apparent. From around the laurel bough that supports the vine comes a column of giant ants. Soon the area where the propalaeotherium was standing is swarming with thousands of these ruthless hunters, tumbling over one another in a dark red tide as they search for fresh meat. They vary in size, with the largest being over 3 centimetres but en masse they can bring down surprisingly large prey. The sound of rain comes from the thousands of ants that have scaled the trees and bushes in the search for victims and, if not successful, simply dropped back down to rejoin their merciless colleagues. The swarm is the end of a long column that stretches 50 metres back to the buttress roots of an old walnut tree. Here a mass of ants form a temporary nest that protects their queen. Along the column countless hunters are bringing trophies back to the nest -- grubs, beetles, grasshopper legs, even a bat's wing. All through the midday heat this devastating group predator works its way metre by metre across the forest floor, methodically dismembering anything that cannot move out of the way. Soon the ants reach the gigantic strangler fig. The main column moves by, but individual outriders stay to explore the roots. If they find anything substantial the column may divert to exploit the food source. Inside the strangler the leptictidium mother sleeps with her young, unaware of the danger outside. More and more ants forage amongst the roots. Despite the leptictidium's size, if hundreds of giant ants fill the entrance to her nest she and her young will be lucky to survive. After about ten minutes the number of ants around the fig decreases. In the column small bits of bloodied black feathers are being carried back to the nest. The swarm has discovered the gastornis nest 30 metres away. Ever since the ants arrived in the area this has been a danger. Each day they have foraged in a different direction from their temporary nest, seeking new pastures. If they had come across the nest while the egg was still intact, the chick would probably have been unharmed, but this is the day of its hatching and the small window it has succeeded in opening in the shell lets in its killers. Even if the mother had been present there would have been little she could do. By now the swarm has covered the huge nest and there is frantic activity around the egg itself. For the chick, it is a slow and nightmarish death. The leptictidium sleep on, but as long as the giant ant nest remains in the area they are at risk. Tomorrow there will be no gastornis chick to distract the swarm. 4 p.m.: After the Heat By late afternoon the worst of the heat is over and the general level of activity among the forest animals increases. The leptictidium wake and, after a short grooming and licking session, set out again to hunt. The ant column is still moving bits of gastornis chick past the fig and one of the youngsters receives the unwanted attention of a couple of ants. He bounces up and down, twisting in the air in his efforts to shake them off. With some difficulty he follows his mother down a track away from the swarm. But the more persistent ants will cling on and later be eaten by the mother. On the way they pass a pair of propalaeotherium. Unusually, the horses seem unconcerned by the sudden appearance of the leptictidium. In fact their responses seem altogether slower and their balance is poor. For the last hour or so they have been feeding on rotting grapes they have found on the forest floor. Now that they have stomachs full of fermenting fruit, alcohol has entered their bloodstream.. This is not a good time to get drunk. Other creatures, as well as the leptictidium, are out hunting in the late afternoon. For the last five minutes the gastornis has been moving slowly towards the horses through the dark forest shadows . Now only 10 metres away, she is ready to strike. The propalaeotherium sense something and try to run, but their reactions are slow and confused. Like a black nightmare the gastornis is swiftly upon them. Scrambling and falling, one horse manages to escape into the undergrowth, but the nearer one has no chance. The huge beak closes right across his back and lifts him clean off the ground. His paws thrash in the air and for the first time he issues a long bray of panic that echoes over the lake. The gastornis tightens her grip and crushes the life out of him. Just to make sure, she bends down, pins the horse to the ground with one massive claw and delivers a series of bone-breaking bites. The whole episode is over in less than a minute. The bird pauses and looks about before tearing off a few mouthfuls of meat. When she has had enough she lifts the half carcass up and carries it, swinging back and forth, back to the nest for her hatchling. Having been hunting for a couple hours she is unaware of the activity of the swarm. For a moment she stands over the nest watching the ants' frantic movement. Then she drops the remains of her kill and climbs up onto the mound, furiously kicking dust and sand at the insects. Her attempts to protect her hatchling are not only too late, they are also futile. The swarm clamber onto her legs and start to bite. The thick scaly skin round her talons is impervious to the attack, but as the ants work their way up to the softer skin under her feathers the giant screeches with irritation. Her beak is not designed for groomig, but she is forced to abandon her assault on the ants and attempt to pick them out from her feathers. Eventually she has to leave the nest mound altogether. All the work that went into laying and incubating her huge egg has been wasted. She will have to start again elsewhere. The ants, meanwhile, have half a propalaeotherium to add to their trophies. As the gastornis flees through the forest issuing her agonized rasping calls she scares up the leptictidium family. The youngsters have been attempting to catch an armoured lizard, but the tough little reptile has easily repelled their advances. The extraordinary appearance of the tormented gastornis sends them all bouncing off towards the lake. The mother steers them quickly past the open silt bank and back down one of their tracks into the undergrowth. At the water's edge a flamingo, a rare visitor to the lake, watches the little mammals bounce by and then goes back to grooming its feathers. The next disturbance, however, sends it flapping up towards the towering green curtain of the canopy. The ambulocetus has decided to return to the bank and takes time out to snap at the flamingo before waddling back to his hunting position among the sedges. Of the two, the bird has made the wiser choice. Out in the middle of the lake the second gas eruption of the day suggests that carbon dioxide levels at the bottom are getting dangerously high. Although the cloud quickly disperses, so many eruptions are a sign are that something much worse is on its way. 6 p.m.: The Night Shift Takes Over At sunset the sky turns a deep red streaked with orange clouds. The taller trees in the canopy pick up the pink of the last rays, while, further down, the forest floor is bathed in a blue gloom. With the lower light levels, the daylight creatures start to disappear into burrows or under bushes. The leptictidium finish their second hunting shift and once again return to the strangler fig. As they settle down, brief squabbles break out between the mother and her young as they try to suckle. It is clear she will soon eject them from the nest and expect them to fend for themselves. As activity on the forest floor decreases, so things pick up in the trees. This is the ancient home of the mammals. During the millions of years they spent under the claw of the dinosaurs, mammals could always look for safety among the branches. Under the cloak of darkness opossum-like ancestors evolved the type of limbs and senses needed to exploit this environment. This has stood them in good stead now the dinosaurs have gone. Many have returned to the ground, but some have stayed in the trees and become more varied and specialist. The most remarkable are the bats, which are the first creatures in the mammals' long history to evolve flight. Like so many mammals, they survive on a high-protein diet of insects, but their limbs and digits have grown so that they can follow their prey into the air. The jungle around the lake is full of them, from the large species, with wingspans of almost 50 centimetres, that hunt amongst the canopy, to the smaller ground hunters with wings half that size. There are also several species of primate here, another new group of arboreal specialists. They too have evolved long limbs and digits, but these are for climbing trees and grasping branches. In addition, their forward-facing eyes help them judge distances in this complex, three-dimensional environment. On a thick laurel branch one such primate, a godinotia, has started his nightly search for insects and fruit. Only about 30 centimetres long, his fluffy black and white hair make him look quite bulky. But as he leaps from bough to bough it is clear that he is a very light, agile creature. He scans the canopy with two enormous dark eyes. Even on a moonless night he can see insects quite clearly and tonight he is in for a bonanza. The giant ant nest has been releasing flying males and females all day and the canopy is full of them. Each with a wingspan of 16 centimetres, they are a perfect meal for the godinotia and without the protection of the rest of the swarm they are easy meat. Spotting the silvery glint of an ant's wings at the very end of a branch, the godinotia stops and weaves his head from side to side to judge the distance. Then he pounces, grasping the ant with one hand and holding on to the branch with the other hand and both feet as it bounces up and down under his weight. Nipping at his prey to stop it wriggling, he works his way back to a more solid foundation before eating. Besides hunting the other activity that takes up a lot of the godinotia's time is mating. They are solitary animals, always on the look-out for members of the opposite sex. Any chance encounter and the godinotia will abandon all other activities and try to mate. This makes them unusually active nocturnal creatures. The light has not completely left the forest and from his vantage point the godinotia spots a lithe predator working its way down to the lake for a drink. It is a creodont, about a metre long, a member of mammals' first carnivorous dynasty. One day the creodonts' descendants will become the giant predators of the Oligocene plains, but in these forests they are small ambush hunters that will occasionally climb trees in search of sleepy primates. The godinotia remains very still as the creodont approaches a patch of sedge at the end of the silt beach. Out of the gathering darkness a huge jaw rises up and snaps down across the front half of the creodont. As the smaller predator struggles, the ambulocetus swiftly reverses into the water, dragging its prey with him. Several godinotia in nearby branches screech alarm while the creodont puts up a sustained fight. But the power of the ambulocetus's bite and the length of its fangs mean that once the creodont is in the water he is finished. Soon the ripples and splashes die away and slowly the ambulocetus carries the limp, sodden body back to the shore to eat. After a couple of large mouthfuls, the scent of blood in the water brings several crocodiles over to the beach. They are smaller than the ambulocetus, but persistent. The rest of his meal becomes a tug of war with these reptilian rivals. 12 midnight: Death out of the Darkness Around midnight a second tremor sets off a chain of events that unleashes an indiscriminate killer into the jungle. The earthquake is followed by a huge release of gas. One end of the lake starts to boil, with water spouts erupting from the surface. Loud booms echo around the lake, accompanied by the occasional eerie flash of light. The animals in the area call and scream. Godinotia run up and down their branches in panic. Within minutes a huge pale cloud of carbon dioxide has developed over the centre of the lake and the surface of the water has turned a sickly red as all the iron trapped in the stagnant lake suddenly oxidizes.The cloud very slowly starts to roll towards the eastern end. This is where a stream exits and, because carbon dioxide is heavier than air, it starts to flow off the lake and rolls down hill following the valley. Indeed it is so heavy that smaller plants are crushed as it moves along. Any animal caught in its path is suffocated. On the ground, horses and pangolins perish where they sleep. Bats, birds and primates fall out of the trees. Only those in the highest branches survive. Even crocodiles and snakes on the lake shore die. After half an hour the lake has calmed down. The red smear across its surface remains and in its eddies several bats float among the dead insects. There is a stale smell in the air, but the cloud itself has disappeared to the east. The jungle is ominously quiet, as at the eastern end of the lake every large animal for several square kilometres is dead -- Nature at its most unpredictable and cruel. 6 a.m.: A New Day The strangler fig is positioned about halfway down the lake and as the first rays of the sun reach the forest floor it is clear that the leptictidium nest has been unaffected by the cloud. As usual the mother leads her youngsters out at dawn down one of their trails. After about 100 metres they find a dead lizard on the path. After much sniffing the mother decides it is suitable for breakfast. Later when they approach the lake something much larger blocks their path. The dead body of the ambulocetus lies just inside the undergrowth where he must have dragged himself while gasping for air. He lies on his back, his purple tongue lolling out of his mouth, his eyes glazed. Already a crocodile has crawled out of the water a few metres away and can smell the carcass. The leptictidium are at first confused. Then, when it is clear that the giant creature is not going to attack them or even move at all, the mother starts frantically to alter the direction of their path. Flicking with her powerful back legs, she has soon created a bypass through a stand of royal fern and rejoined her old track on the other side of the carcass. While she is doing this one of the youngsters has spotted prey crawling on the dead ambulocetus. He lunges and quickly eats a large ant. This is not a flying female or a male, it is an outrider from the swarm. It would appear that the crocodiles are not the only ones interested in the ambulocetus's body. From Walking with Prehistoric Beasts, by Tim D. Haines. (c) 2001 Tim D. Haines used by permission. Excerpted from Walking with Prehistoric Beasts: A Prehistoric Safari by Timothy D. Haines, Daren Horley, Dorling Kindersley Publishing Staff All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
