The daspletosaurus's nose is a superb instrument, but a pigeon's nose is pretty good too, if differently calibrated. He knows the Peryton smells familiar, if not quite correct, and associates him with red and wings and antlers. And song. That a few of those were confirmed is delightful, but he doesn't get the chance to work past that.

The hunters aren't close close. He can't hear them yet, even though his ears are pretty good. They are definitely close enough that he can pick out the scents of different individuals. He knows that they, and the beasts, are out here for a reason and that reason is violence, even if he can't quite conceptualize past that. He looks back up, sees that the Peryton has retreated again.

Team up, a part of him says. But it's a very small part of him, and he is very large and can't grasp how to do that, and the thought becomes just a wistful feeling. Singing was fun. It's a shame it can't just continue.

He heaves a great sigh and, filled with regret and resignation, swings his snout from the Peryton's hiding place towards where the closest hunters are, and back. There's a thing over there. Keeping his jaws closed, he sings something that doesn't sound remotely like an animal, a pattern of rising and falling sort of drumbeats.

What he really wants is one more response, but get it or not, after a moment he'll be off, making his challenge-and-warning calls again.