Michelle woke to the smell of medicinal tea and the sound of Mira humming what was definitely a Beatles song.
"Are you humming 'Hey Jude'?" Michelle asked groggily, her voice rough from sleep.
Mira's humming stopped abruptly. She turned from the fire, her expression caught between surprise and delight. "You caught that?"
"Hard to miss. You were very into the 'na na na' part." Michelle pushed herself up on her elbows, wincing as her healing ribs protested. Her core still felt wrung out, like someone had squeezed every drop of energy from it and forgotten to refill the tank. "How long was I out this time?"
"Only six hours. Your recovery time is improving." Mira brought over a steaming cup, settling into the chair beside Michelle's bed. "You know, in fifty years here, I never met another human who recognized Earth music. It's... nice. Being understood."
"Fifty years of keeping Earth references to yourself must have been lonely." Michelle accepted the tea, inhaling the familiar mint-and-floral scent that had become her morning ritual.
"Terribly lonely." Mira's smile was wistful, her eyes distant with memory. "I once tried to explain the concept of a microwave to a bear-kin blacksmith. He thought I was describing some kind of fire demon that cooked food with invisible magic rays. Spent three hours trying to convince him I wasn't a witch."
Michelle snorted, nearly choking on her tea. "How'd that go?"
"He still thinks I'm a witch. Just a helpful one." Mira's expression softened. "But you're here now. Someone who understands both worlds. Knows what a microwave is, what a Beatles song sounds like, why indoor plumbing matters. That's rare, Michelle. Precious."
The weight of that statement settled over them, two humans, separated by decades but connected by a shared impossible experience. Before Michelle could respond, a knock at the door broke the moment.
"Enter," Mira called.
A young wolf-kin stepped inside silver-white hair shaggier than Riven's, ice-blue eyes bright with barely contained energy. He carried himself with the formal stiffness of someone trying very hard to make a good impression.
"Lady Michelle, Elder Mira," he greeted with a respectful bow. "I'm Beta Rome, Alpha Riven's second-in-command. Alpha sends his regards and asked me to deliver something to Lady Michelle."
Rome held out a bundle wrapped in soft leather, which he set down on Michelle's bed with obvious reverence.
"Your Earth clothing was... compromised," Rome said diplomatically. "Alpha thought you might need proper garments."
"That's a polite way of saying my jeans are held together by hope and spite at this point," Michelle agreed, reaching for the bundle.
Rome's expression flickered with confusion clearly "jeans" wasn't translating well but he pushed forward. "These belonged to my sister. Runa. She passed three years ago during the winter fever." His voice caught slightly. "She'd want them used. She always said waste was..." He paused, searching for words. "She wouldn't want good clothes sitting unused when someone needed them."
Michelle's throat tightened. This wasn't just practical assistance this was a gift weighted with grief and generosity. She unwrapped the bundle to reveal a well-made tunic, leather pants, and fur-lined boots.
"Thank you, Rome," Michelle said quietly. "I'm honored. And I'm sorry about your sister."
"She would have liked you," Rome said, a small smile breaking through his formal demeanor. "She was always asking questions, wanting to know how things worked. Drove the elders crazy with her 'why' questions." His expression turned thoughtful. " Lord Kael says you're like that too. Always analyzing, improving things."
"That's a kind way of saying I'm annoying," Michelle said.
"No. no." Rome's response was immediate and serious. "That's a way of saying you're valuable. Which brings me to the real reason Alpha sent me."
He straightened his shoulders like he was preparing for battle, his earlier nervousness returning.
Rome took a breath. "Lady Michelle, Alpha Riven wanted me to formally ask if you'd considered seriously."
Michelle blinked. "About what now?"
"About being a Huntress." Rome tested the word like it was precious. "It's a role. A position. For females who don't want to just be protected. Who want to contribute actively to Feral lands survival."
"Let me explain properly," Mira interjected, her expression turning serious. "Female beast-kin are incredibly rare, Michelle. You know this. Because of that rarity, most females are protected, guarded, kept safe at all costs. It's born from good intentions they've lost so many to the Feral Lands beasts, to corruption, to violence. Protecting females means protecting the future."
"But some females don't want that protection?" Michelle guessed.
"Exactly." Mira's expression was approving. "Some choose to hunt. To fight. To use their skills actively rather than being relegated to 'safe' tasks. We call them Huntresses. It's a formal role with specific rights and responsibilities."
Michelle set down her tea, her engineer brain immediately analyzing. "What kind of rights?"
"Autonomy to move freely without constant escorts," Rome said, gaining confidence. "Voice in Beastly Council decisions. Right to refuse protection if you deem it unnecessary. Authority to contribute skills like your world knowledge without needing beast counsil's permission. Huntresses are respected. Valued not just for being female, but for their contributions."
"That sounds too good to be true," Michelle said suspiciously. "What's the catch?"
Rome winced. "The catch is the Mate Hunt."
Michelle's blood went cold. "The what?"
"It's not what it sounds like—" Rome started.
"It's exactly what it sounds like," Mira interrupted grimly. "And Michelle needs to hear the truth, not the sanitized version."
Rome looked pained but nodded. "When a female declares as Huntress, she becomes eligible for Claiming. Males who wish to court her must participate in the Mate Hunt—a ceremonial competition where they prove their worth. It's tradition. Ancient tradition."
"Define 'competition,'" Michelle said slowly, not liking where this was going.
Mira took over, her voice carrying the weight of experience. "The Mate Hunt is brutal, Michelle. Males compete in trials—combat, hunting, displays of strength and skill. They fight each other for the right to present their Claim to you. Some get seriously injured. Occasionally, males die."
Michelle felt sick. "They fight to the death?"
"Not supposed to be to the death," Rome said quickly. "But accidents happen. Tempers flare. When powerful males compete for a rare female, things can get violent."
"So becoming a Huntress means males will literally fight each other, potentially to the death, for the privilege of courting me?" Michelle's voice was flat with horror. "There's no way I can let it happen."
"Tradition is strong, Michelle. The pack expects the Hunt. Males expect the Hunt. Refusing it is... complicated." Mira added in low voice.
"How complicated?"
"Some will see it as disrespect to tradition," Rome admitted. "Others will argue you're denying them the chance to prove themselves. The pack might question your commitment to Huntress status if you don't follow protocol."
"Did Mira...?" Michelle said, looking at the elder. "Did you make them Hunt?"
Mira's expression was conflicted. "Sadly, I had too as I allowed three Hunts over my lifetime. Lost good males in two of them—not to death, thank the gods, but to injuries that ended their warrior careers. The guilt still haunts me." She leaned forward. "But I also refused Hunts twice. Claimed my right as healer to choose without hunt. Both times caused... tension. Political complications. Males who felt dishonored."
"This is insane," Michelle said. "You're telling me that to get autonomy and respect, I have to either watch males potentially hunt each other, or cause political incidents by refusing?"
Mira then said dryly. "This where every solution comes with impossible complications."
Rome shifted uncomfortably. "Lady Michelle, I should mention... whatever decision you make about the Hunt you'll have to face it alone."
"That's not very diplomatic of an option," Michelle rubbed her temples, feeling a headache building. "So my options are: don't become a Huntress and lose autonomy?"
"Essentially," Rome confirmed miserably. "I'm sorry, Lady Michelle. I wish the tradition was different. But Alpha Riven wanted you to know the truth before you decided. All of it. Not just the appealing parts."
Michelle appreciated that honesty, even as it made her decision infinitely more complicated.
"I must take my leave now. So do tell me when should we schedule the declaration ceremony?" Rome asked at last. Whereas Michelle thought hard.
"Give me a week s," Michelle requested. "To finish my healing, and then to think about the way that won't result in a body count."
After Rome left practically disappointed to report back to Alpha Riven, Mira helped Michelle into the new clothes. The tunic was soft wool dyed forest green. The pants were sturdy leather, fitted but flexible. The boots were lined with fur, warm without being bulky.
"You're really going to rethink about the Mate Hunt, it point less..." Mira said, adjusting the tunic's lacing. "Michelle, you realize how unprecedented this is?"
"I guess anything I do here is unprecedented. I got to stopped trying to be normal." Michelle tested her weight on her healing knee.