Looking up at the tree, he suddenly forgot about his throbbing paws. I’ve marked a tree! This is really my territory now. Pride filled him up like rainwater in a curved leaf as he examined the scratches: high up to show how tall he was, deep to show his strong, sharp claws. No bear will mess with me now!

On his way back to his den site, Toklo marked a few more trees, reaching as high as he could with his front paws. The woodpecker still followed, chattering with annoyance as if it didn’t like the marks Toklo was making.

‘Tough!’ Toklo told it. ‘This is my territory now, and these are my trees.’

Back at his chosen tree, he started digging again. He worked faster now, but it was still hard going. His legs ached and his claws felt as if they were going to drop off. Earth showered everywhere, making his eyes stream and his pelt itch.

At last Toklo realised that the light in the forest was changing to red. The sun was going down. His den was still only a scoop no deeper than his belly.

I’m starving! he thought, backing out of the hole and spitting out earth. I’ve got to take a break from digging and find some prey.

Wincing as he put his sore paws to the ground, he shambled down the slope to the stream and jumped from rock to rock until he found a small pool.

Toklo leaped in, relishing the cool shock of the water as it rinsed his fur. Tiny silver shapes darted away from him. Revived by the water, Toklo pounced, slapping his paw down on one of the fish and feeling it wriggle against his pad. Thrusting his snout into the stream, he bit into the fish and swallowed it.

The fish was small, but its taste tingled in his mouth. Toklo waded further into the pool, managing to catch more of the tiny fish, until the survivors had all fled into the unreachable shallows around the edge or into crevices among the rocks.

Finally Toklo heaved himself out of the stream too tired to hunt any more. He padded back upstream and climbed the slope to curl up in his unfinished den. Satisfaction surged over him. He didn’t care that the den wasn’t finished. It was his, in his own territory, and he had eaten prey he had caught himself.

The den felt cold without Kallik, Lusa and Ujurak curled up beside him, but Toklo wriggled deeper into the hole, out of the chill night wind, and was comforted by the familiar scents of earth and trees and halfburied roots. Soon his eyes closed and he slept.