When the timber-fog cleared, he found himself staring at the brown hide of a gargantuan beast. It was impossibly large, bigger even than the Thunderhawk that had delivered them from orbit. Its chest and underbelly were armoured with slabs of bone.
...
‘Sanguinius feast on your heart!’ Melechk had just enough time to spit a curse before the beast’s tail whipped round and slammed into him. The blow shattered the heavy bolter, smashed Melechk’s breastplate and hurled him thirty metres backwards through a tree.
‘Fall back!’ Asmodel unhooked a clutch of grenades and tossed them at the beast. The explosives detonated in front of its face, drawing a roar as its skin blistered. ‘Go, now!’
The blast had disorientated the beast but Cassiel knew the flesh wounds would do little to slow it. Breaking into a run, he tried to raise the wounded Scout on the vox.
‘Melechk?’
‘There’s blood in me yet, neophyte,’ Melechk rasped, clearly injured. ‘But I might need some help getting out of here.’
‘I have you,’ Hamied’s voice cut in over the vox.
‘The gorge to the south-east... The beast won’t find footing,’ said Melechk as Hamied hauled him up.

Flesh of Cretacia