Claiming the Deep

I descended into the throat of the cellar, each concrete step cold and unyielding beneath my claws. Darkness pooled thick around my knees. At the third riser, I stopped. The cellar walls of rough fieldstone and lime mortar hemmed me in tight, cutting off the wind from the yard. I planted my wide stance firmly upon the gray stone slab, squared my shoulders, and backed my spine flush against the damp foundation. I took a slow breath and let out a deep, rolling roar into the black vault. The subterranean hall caught the sound, rumbling back with a low, cavernous echo. The depths know who commands the threshold.