The Granite Boundary

A line of coarse granite blocks defended the edge of the dirt path. Solid. Jagged. Half-swallowed by the damp earth. I stalked outside, leaving the quiet house behind. I drove my thick claws under the widest boulder, planting my heels deep into the crushed gravel. The stone resisted, clinging stubbornly to roots and wet grit. A low rumble rose in my chest. I surged upward with my back, prying it loose with a grinding thud until it rolled into the dark mud. It yielded. A proper stronghold begins with cleared ground.