Treecats and their dwellings blended very well into their surroundings. Stephanie had visited Lionheart at “home” and knew what to look for. Treecats didn’t impact their environment as much as humans did, but they did create sleeping platforms and places where they could store food. Examining the section of picketwood to which Lionheart had brought them, Stephanie thought that at any other time this would be a very nice place for treecats to live. A stream originating from some inland source—probably a freshwater spring—created the eastern border, while in the near distance the southern fork of the Makara River ran to the south. To the north, she could glimpse a large meadow thick with waist-high grass. The picketwood grove itself looked strong and healthy. Now, however, with smoke wreathing through the tree limbs, cutting off the daylight so that the lurid glow of the approaching fire seemed like dull, angry sunlight peering out sideways, the area was ugly and unsettling. It was also a scene of chaos—chaos, Stephanie realized, that had been triggered by their own arrival.
