The sky opened up, and Andrea added another entry to her list of Things not Improved by Rain. Escorting civilians through bombed-out alleys, raiding insurgents' bunkers, and riding a tyrannosaur bareback.
The huge, hot, evil-smelling animal rumbled under her. Andrea knew what that meant, and braced herself just before the spine tilted down and the ground blurred. The thing fucking loved it some rain.
The tyrannosaur certainly blended in with the monsoon color-scheme: matte charcoal on the face and back, washing through storm-cloud on the neck and flanks to a pallid pewter underbelly. The whole thing subtly blotched in a way Andrea recognized with professional admiration as damn good camouflage.