Therm's teeth scraped against the muddy stones at the edge of Puddlewick's smallest pond. The water here tasted wrong—too many creatures had already fed. Therm wanted more than scraps and shadows. They wanted a territory where no other predator dared to hunt. The fallen log across the narrow stream caught Therm's eye. Moss covered its bark in thick green patches. Small fungi sprouted along its sides in delicate clusters. Animals would have to cross there—the banks rose too steep on either side. Therm's wide mouth stretched into something close to a smile. This spot would work. Prey would funnel through, and Therm would be waiting. This would be the first piece of their territory, the place where others learned to stay away. Therm circled the area three times, memorizing every rock and root. The stream twisted around old trees before reaching the log. Prey paths marked the mud on both sides. Therm gathered vines from the undergrowth, their claws working through the tangles. They wove the vines together and stretched them between trees at the territory's edges. The barriers hung low enough to see but high enough to pass beneath. Any predator would know what they meant—this hunting ground belonged to Therm now. They settled into the shadows near the mossy log and waited for the first meal in their new domain. Past the stream, through a break in the trees, stood an old wooden shack. The Red Cross sign above its door hung crooked and faded. No one lived there now. Therm moved closer, testing the ground with each step. The shack sat at the center of good hunting land—water on one side, thick brush on the other. Prey would pass through here every day. Therm dragged their claws across the shack's weathered walls, leaving deep marks in the wood. This would be the heart of their territory. Other predators would see the marks and the vine barriers and turn away. Therm had found their place in Puddlewick, and soon everything here would know to fear them.