Micolash holds his breath when he sees the marvelous creature before him, eyes going wide and unblinking. There's a long stillness. Then he drops the pen in his hand.

The man in the cage immediately rushes to kneel on all fours closer to the edge of the table the Indoraptor stands near, oggling openly in amazement. Staring, taking in the details and majesty of this large predator. Bipedal? Look at the teeth. Eyes deep-set in the sides of the skull? Not a sight-based hunter, the orbit too limited. Scent-based, perhaps. Clear external nares near to the premaxilla. Is it fused to the incisive bone? The mandibular dentary has obvious power in the jawline; made to crush, with teeth to pierce and tear...

Does this animal KNOW HOW TO WRITE.

Micolash's thoughts are rushing a thousand miles a minute as he rapidly flicks through scientific terms and observations. Fervent biological speculation that is repeatedly interrupted with the realization it's WRITING.

He hasn't said anything. Or blinked. Instead, one spindly, ink-stained hand reaches out slowly for Indoraptor's nose. Pet it. Pet the giant predator.