Rend Stripclaw's Arc

Chapter 2 of 7

The wolf beat Rend by the last light of that first night. He tore the shirt off Rend's back, chewed it, and swallowed it whole. Then he laughed, dropped his stake, and walked away bored. He kept the ring only long enough to mock it, then handed it back. "Keep your empty pit," he said. "No one came to watch anyway." Rend woke the next morning with the ring still his, and no one in it. That was the real wound. The benches sat bare. The trophy board held one chewed scrap of collar and nothing else. Rend paced the dirt and roared his challenge again. The market crowd drifted past the ropes and kept walking. A ring with no crowd proved nothing. Patch found him kicking a bench. The elelion said nothing at first. He picked up the fallen bench with his trunk and set it straight. "You keep shouting into an empty yard," Patch said. "People don't come for a fight. They come to see someone big go down." Rend stopped. "Who's big?" Patch pointed his trunk across the square. A bear in a red jersey stood by the water trough, doing pull-ups on a beam. Muscles rolled under his fur. Every prowler nearby watched him. Marcus Strongpaw, the best athlete on the island, and Rend's oldest rival. Rend's gut tightened just seeing him. "Beat him," Patch said, "and the whole island shows up." Rend walked over. Marcus dropped from the beam and grinned down at him. "The lion with the empty arena," Marcus said. "I heard the wolf ate your shirt for free." "Fight me in my ring," Rend said. "Winner strips the loser bare. In front of everyone." Marcus laughed once, loud. Heads turned. "You want a crowd? I'll bring one. But when I win, I hang your fur on your own board." He shook Rend's paw hard enough to hurt. Word spread fast. By dusk the benches filled. Prowlers packed the ropes three deep. Someone even led in a strange elephant-dog to gawk at the noise. The tailor sold cloth from a cart. Rend stood in the ring and felt every eye on him at last. Marcus came in flexing. He was stronger. But strength was not Rend's game. Rend feinted low, then hooked one claw under the strap of the jersey. Marcus grabbed for it. Too slow. Rend spun behind him, gripped the shorts, and pulled. Cloth shredded. Marcus stumbled, caught his own feet, and went down bare in the dirt. The crowd exploded. Rend pinned the torn jersey to his board. His first true trophy. His first true audience. But Marcus rose from the dirt, fur bristling, jaw tight. He did not laugh now. "This isn't over," he said. "I'll bring every prowler on this island to watch you fall." He stalked out through the roaring crowd. Rend had his audience. Now he had an enemy who would summon them all against him.