Trixie Longclaw's Arc

Chapter 5 of 13

Trixie crossed back through the gate with the tar still on her paws. She did not go to her den. She went past it, into the strip of wood no cat had yet claimed. If she was going to lead with the wound showing, she needed ground that was hers by choice, not by old fear. She found it under a wide oak — and found the problem already waiting. Tufts of pale fur clung to the bark, snagged at shoulder height. Fresh. Someone bigger than her had been rubbing this trunk, scenting it, testing the silence. A rival was moving while she stood still. Trixie did not wait. She rose on her hind legs and dragged her long claws down the oak, four deep lines, then four more, deeper. Sap welled up bright. She scraped the rival's tufts loose and pressed her own scent into the raw wood. The mark was plain. The mark was hers. Then she went back across the gate and called them. Not asked — called. The gathered cats came under the gnarled tree at the edge of the new ground, and Celeste came too, sitting at her side, not behind. Trixie spoke short. New ground. Her ground. Any cat who walks it walks under her claw. She did not hide the tar smell on her paws, and no one asked about it. Heads lowered, one by one. The new wood was hers. But the pale fur was still out there, and whoever had left it had not lowered a head yet.