You wake up with the sunlight. You are small and fleet of foot, and you have to be. Out there are things 9 feet tall with razor talons and clever, clever minds. And there are things even bigger that prey on those things. You venture out from your den, hopping lightly over rocks and undergrowth on your two little feet, looking for something to eat.
There! in the underbrush! a small rodent, perhaps like a rat. You lunge on it, grasp it and tear it's head off. The juices invigorate you as you pull the meger flesh from its body... with your beak.
You look up. A pterosaur glides by overhead. These kings of the skies are always looking down, looking for you.
You keep absolutely still until it passes, and then allow yourself a little shiver in the feathers that cover your skin. Feathers that serve soley for warmth.
I wish there was something that wanted to cuddle me.