Sleepy Fox Hollow Catacombs and water mains.

They were so close now that Anselm could taste the berries on Etienne's breath. There was a heat to it; a heat that did not quite measure to the scathing furnace that was Etienne's incensed glare.

But Anselm thrived in this incense. In staring down Etienne, he saw himself reflected back -- and liked what he saw.

His tail climbed. Their game was changing -- the stakes ever rising as a crescendo of wanton violence thickened Anselm's blood. I think you gave me a nickname. He accused, his yellow gaze traveling from purple-stained muzzle to hardened eye. Tell me vhat it means.