We were crossing a ridge when Corgan was lifted off the ground by something. "Shoot it! Shoot the tyrannosaur!" he screamed as blood streamed from the puncture wounds that had opened up in belly. I fired into the empty space above him to no effect. Then Corgan's ragged corpse dropped to the forest floor, and I was alone. Utterly alone. There was no dinosaur. There was nothing.
Termites, in certain places, make homes that can be eight meters high and only a half meter wide. They are built facing North to South to take advantages of the suns travel, maximum heat in the morning and evening and little in the afternoon. Imagine grassy plains with vertical structions facing a certain direction all over the place. Ambush? Maze? New creature? Larger structures?