A matriarch's spirit energy was far too powerful to underestimate.
When she activated it, a single word could bend her bonded mates to her will. Say "kneel," and they had no choice but to drop to their knees. Command them to die, and die they would.
Using it on herself wasn't quite as deadly—but still, she could be struck by lightning at best, or lose limbs at worst.
So on this continent, very few matriarchs cursed themselves.
Annelise knew this perfectly well. But life went on, and furry companions still needed attention.
She lifted her hand to the sky. "I curse myself. Drink to excess, and I lose my hands. Strike or abuse my mates without reason, and I lose my head."
Heh. Horrible enough, right?
Her two mates dared not even breathe.
Hudson's normally upright fox ears drooped completely. Annelise's heart itched at the sight.
After a moment, Hudson tried to rise, but Evan gently held him back, shaking his head slightly.
Annelise understood. After all the punishment they'd endured, no one would believe that a single day of mercy meant she wouldn't hit them again. Tonight, they deserved time to process.
"All right, go rest. Stop living in that half-collapsed room—take the better one," she instructed.
The mates stared in disbelief. The matriarch had made it very clear before that they weren't worthy of the nice room. A half-broken shelter was a blessing.
In the dead of winter, she had even forced them to sleep outside, shivering in the cold.
Seeing them hesitate, Annelise nudged them lightly. "Go on, now."
Supporting each other, Hudson and Evan rose slowly, stepping carefully as if their lives depended on it.
When they reached the room, no stones came flying. Only then did they exhale in relief. Tonight, they really wouldn't be woken by the cold wind.
Annelise closed her door and looked around at the meager home: a jar with a single ear of corn, a few rotting wild greens, and a leaking roof. It was pitifully poor.
She had to prepare for survival.
Hudson was a carnivore. Evan, an omnivore. And Annelise? She lived for meat.
No matter what, this household couldn't survive on rotting wild greens alone.
Winter was coming. Other packs hunted and used animal hides for clothing. Her own home had only two hides, already traded for alcohol. If she didn't act, they'd freeze to death before the season even started.
She muttered to herself, "I can't let my adorable mates turn pale and skinny. That fur has to stay soft and smooth… perfect for petting."
The entire tribe's territory had few resources. After the first snow, wild greens would be crushed under ice, impossible to harvest. Hunting would be nearly impossible, too.
That was why every pack stockpiled food, dried greens, and prepared supplies. She had already lost the advantage.
Suddenly, an idea sparked. If she couldn't hunt, why not raise them instead?
This tribe had plenty of wild chickens, which shifters commonly ate. Catch a male and a female, and instead of eating them right away, let them breed.
Wild greens could be planted in the yard. Large snowdrifts were tough to clear—but small patches? Manageable.
With greens and eggs, she could trade with other shifters for proper fur-lined clothes. Food, clothing, shelter—solved.
Annelise had dual graduate degrees. She studied medicine and veterinary science, and even took electives in agriculture—growing crops, hydroponics, and animal husbandry. She had once taken these classes out of boredom. Now they were exactly what she needed.
Satisfied, she decided to rest for the night.
Early the next morning, she slung two baskets over her shoulders, ready to forage a variety of wild greens. She planned to gather enough to eat first, then figure out planting.



Annelise thought, If you all don't want him… I do. Furry, soft… love at first sight.
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