Claiming the Summit

The cleared birch branch gave a direct ramp up the stone pedestal. I charged it headfirst. My claws bit deep into the coarse birch bark as I hauled my weight up the steep incline. At the crest, the cold concrete basin brim met my chest. Solid. A thick, wet yellow leaf was plastered flat against the stone rim, claiming the waterline. Unacceptable. I clamped my jaws over the sodden leaf, ripped it free, and let it flutter down to the flags below. Cold water splashed across my snout. I planted both hind feet squarely on the wet concrete brim and let out a blunt, clicking roar.