Claiming the Ridge

Jaws locked. Cold stillness. I hold my breath, eyes locked on the long-snouted silhouette across the brown cloth. Then, a pulse surges down my spine. I tense my neck and snap my jaw shut—a hard, solid click. I can move. I lower my head and drive my front foot down into the thick brown weave. The soft surface compresses beneath my claws, taking my full weight without slipping. Ground holds. Rival remains frozen. I stand firm, ready for whatever moves next.