Dinictis and Protoceras, Charles R. Knight, 1904
In the silence between hoofbeats, Protoceras sails untethered—removed from the earth but not the moment—his heart slamming, lungs burning, blood pushing, legs so flooded with adrenaline that they threaten to release sparks. It’s within that infinite-yet-finite moment where he touches nothing, and nothing, neither earth nor predator, touches him that he maintains a single repeating thought: Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.