Totem

Boris stumped into the bar and settled at a table. His massive forearms, each the size of a small child, made the wood creak. Gorilla's token dangled from a leather thong about his neck. His seatmate, diminutive and long-nosed, nodded in greeting. A silver locket gleamed at his throat.

"Hello, Boris," he said. "New totem already? When will you settle?"

"What about you? Still tooling around with your little Mouse, eh, Derry?" Boris displayed a snaggle-toothed grin. "When are you going to get a real totem?"

Derry smiled. "A totem is not something you have, Boris. It's something you are."

Retractable

The pack circled him, cracking their knuckles and snickering. "We are Wolf, little thief," said their muscular leader. "Whose are you? You stink of Tiger."

"Cat," said the thief. "House-cat."

The Wolves roared with laughter. "Little puss-puss!" one cried. "Shall we fetch some milk?"

The leader plucked at the thief's hand. "Such soft, velvet pads!" he chuckled.

The thief smiled. There was a blur of motion, and the pack leader staggered back, clutching at his spilling innards.

"The first lesson Cat teaches," said the thief, leaping atop the fence with one bloodied hand, "is this: the claws are always there."