The Sunspire Or cannibal vampire anchovies

Treason was an ember burning in the dark.  Okay.  It wasn't dark.  It was late afternoon and she was prowling around the borders with a fiery intensity that just dared anyone to wander too far over the scent line today.  Between Redshank, the group of angry wolves at the crash site, and whatever cliffnotes she'd heard from the two Tindome boys trespassing, she was in no mood to pull punches.

At all game trails and other such easy entrances to the territory, she took a moment to pee on a bush or scrape her paws across the path itself to mark it.  She would make sure there was no question.  The pack was here, it was well-defended.  There was no question.  There was also no question that Treason was totally willing to back up those promises.