The first thing that you see as you clear the trees is the sun. Though the morning had been foggy, the last vestiges of clouds were already clearing as you exited the dome and so the bright sun is shining in a blue sky with only some thin and rapidly fading wisps of cloud drifting past it. The sky is beautiful, the sun hanging high and central in the sky in an indication that the season is summertime.

Then there are the birds. At first you think they are close to you based on prior data you have about birds, but then you realize that they are too blurred in image quality to be that close and are instead extremely large, the size of the endangered California Condor, but these appear to be regular songbirds and not the majestic scavenger that had nearly gone extinct in the 20th century due to chemical harm to its eggs. 

And then, as your gaze traces past the birds to the origin of their flight, there is Sandrea. Gazing upon it is like gazing upon a walking mountain. The top of its head is the first thing you see, floating at nearly 300 meters in the air, a viridian frilled crest upon it. Its face is in some manner akin to what was imagined to be the ancient diplodocus, but scaled up by a full factor of ten. Wide greenish gray jaws flow into a long thick neck that ripples with iridescent scales that extends down to the girth of its vast rounded body. Upon its back, like the great legends of island turtles of the past, is a forest of odd trees and vines, an ecosystem of soil merged with its skin. Plant matter rains gently from its sides down to the ground below, a mixture of seeds and enriched earth that cascades to the ground. And then, below that, four thick legs each wide than the greatest tree you have any record of, drive it forward. Above it flock a myriad more birds, soaring and swooping and at times perching. And behind it, though distant, you can see the motion and dust of a great train of people and animals that follow safely in its wake. 

In its fullness, there would be only majesty, but across its back right leg, there is a gash, a wound inflicted by some great blade or more esoteric weapon. Its blood is tinted with a reddish golden hue, indicative of more esoteric metals than just iron in its biological makeup.

As you watch, it lurches towards the San Jose Dome, ignoring its learned behaviour in its pain. And with the tinkling sound of shattered glass mixed with the groan of breaking steel, its front leg shatters a section of the dome inwards. 

Ailee, who has been silent as you ran, gasps and projects an image of herself shuddering. "Marauders" she says, referencing the description of third wave human immigration into this region that had only recently begun occurring. There is something like hate in the voice she projects to you.