CHAPTER 20 #2
Charie frowned contemplatively. “That’s not really common around here. I know some werewolves that enjoy a snack of wild berries and nuts, but other than a stew with onions and carrots...” She shook her head. “Our diet consists primarily of meat.”
“Wh—” Lenore’s back straightened in surprise. “Then I ought to start a garden. Does no one sell vegetables here?”
“Other than the basic staples, not really. But it’s okay, we have all kinds of meat!” Charie piled a cracker with a multitude of sliced meats before placing a chunk of cheese on top. “That’s all we really need.”
“Do werewolves here eat any other sorts of food then?”
“Other foods? Erm, like fish? Our pack doesn’t eat much seafood, but coastal werewolves certainly do. Perhaps you can try their cuisine at the Lunar Ball.”
At Charie’s mention of the Lunar Ball, Lenore paused between bites. “Wait—” she coughed, clearing her throat of any crumbs. “I’ve heard everyone talk about this Lunar Ball, but I’ve no idea what it actually is still.”
“Oh!” Charie gasped. Excitement lit up her features. “I’ll explain. It’s an annual event for all werewolves to attend. All packs gather together on neutral grounds to socialize and maintain each other’s relationships. It’s incredibly important, and the most anticipated event every year.”
“I see…” Lenore nodded in understanding.
“Of course, that’s only part of it. The most important part is that it’s a time when many werewolves may meet their fated mate.”
“Fated mate...” Lenore blinked, eyes darting to the side as she recalled similar words spoken in passing from Fia the night before.
“It’s a blessing received from the Moon’s Sovereign upon our race,” Charie murmured.
She squeezed a cracker tightly between her fingers, watching the crumbs descend onto the table below.
The excitement dimmed in her eyes. “It’s a special, romantic bond between two werewolves that ties their very souls together.
It could be your first meeting or sometimes years later—but whatever the case, the same feeling appears for both of you.
It’s as if you’ve met your missing half, the one that completes you.
A tug that links you as one.” She paused, then added, “At least that’s what I heard it feels. ”
Lenore’s face grew hot. Her memories refused to stop replaying those horribly strange flutters for a certain navy-haired man.
“Oh,” she finally said. “And, um, how do you know it’s more than just a... a feeling?” she asked hastily to divert her mind, not expecting a serious answer.
“There’s a flower that’ll only bloom in the company of fated mates—”
“Something like that actually exists?” Lenore blurted. Her eyes widened, unable to fathom that it really was possible to confirm the bond between fated mates. She couldn’t sit still—something new stirring in her chest.
“It does,” Charie replied softly. “It’s called an etheria, and it’ll remain alive as long as it’s in the company of both of you.
There’s always bushes of it planted around a werewolf’s territory, and plenty at the Lunar Ball.
Some of the bolder werewolves wear a bloom on their chest. Romantic, isn’t it?
” A long, drawn out sigh left her. “Since fated mates aren’t inherently kept within packs, many werewolves have to deal with the logistics of having to move to another pack. ”
Charie nibbled at the edge of her half-crumbled cracker. “That’s why the Lunar Ball and good pack relations with others are crucial. Before the ball was enacted, you could read a good chunk of star-crossed lovers in werewolf history.”
“That does sound terribly tragic,” Lenore murmured.
“Being stuck in that sort of situation must feel suffocating.” She found solace in the thought of possibly not having to face such a dilemma.
Her body stilled, taken aback by the unexpected feeling.
Heat radiated off her cheeks, and she shoved another cracker into her mouth.
“But you won’t have to worry about that!” Charie chirped out quickly. “You’ll have the opportunity to meet your fated mate with no troubles now, I’m sure.”
“R-right. That sounds…” Lenore fussed with her hair with one hand. “Well, it is all so romantic, but a little overwhelming if I’m being honest. I just need to process this.”
“That’s not an uncommon feeling. Even the rest of us, who grew up with this, still get antsy before a Lunar Ball.”
“Antsy is one way to put it…” Lenore tightly pressed the tips of her boots against each other. “Thank you for telling me all of this, though. That’s one thing cleared up.”
“You’re welcome. I’m here to explain as much as possible, ideally without overloading you with too much at once.” Charie smiled. “We’re both Nyvens so don’t be afraid to ask.”
“About that,” Lenore took the moment to change the subject. “I don’t even have a proper bearing of what being an Nyven means. Well, besides the very obvious fact that I’m not as strong as the average werewolf. Brynn briefly explained the general idea of it, but…”
“Usually Nyvens serve all the other werewolves. The general system here is meeting hunting quotas that help funnel the pack’s overall finances since that meat is sold to outsiders.
If a member exceeds their met quota, they receive payment for the extra.
A werewolf usually shouldn’t have issues with that, but a Nyven’s strength is...
” She tilted her head slightly as her lips scrunched to the side.
“Well, I suppose our strengths are in supporting the pack instead.”
“Are there consequences if we fail to meet the quota?” Lenore asked with a frown.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Charie said.
“We’re more of the backbone for everything else.
No one is going to go after us for the lack of meat we offer…
not this pack at least. Instead, we’re given extra duties to make up for it, or we have to serve at parties first before we can eat—the only other negative being we get reduced rations for special hunts.
Nyvens are used to being the ones running around and helping others.
What we lack in strength, we make up in support.
In turn, the higher ranked members usually look out for us, or give us things to help us out.
We can also get whatever’s left of the week’s quota if need be. ”
“I see…” Lenore murmured. “When do I start all of this?”
Charie hummed in thought. “Maybe after tomorrow? We’ll be preparing for the Upper Moon Feast tomorrow, so it’s going to be busy for us. Are there any particular dishes you’re good at?”
“We’re in charge of our own dishes?” Immediately, Lenore’s mind scrambled through a disorganized mess of recipes, unable to recall the exact ingredients even for her tried-and-true favorites on the spot. “I thought all those chickens I prepped last night were it.”
“Only some of them are meant for the dinner. They all like a variety of meat,” Charie said.
“We’ll be helping each other out, and taste testing of course.
But if there’s anything you’re good at, that would be great.
There’s no set menu, or the need to make something that the upper ranks specifically like.
It's always been an event for Nyvens to have the opportunity to feed the Caernith, Vesren, Duskryns, and Astras with their own favored dishes. So the expectations are less of a rigid structure and more of... just making good food?” Charie shrugged helplessly. “It’s always been stressful, though.”
“I can imagine,” Lenore said. “I think I already feel the pressure.” She brushed her hands against each other, and crumbs fell to the ground. Her lip jutted out when she rested her chin on top of her hands. “Hopefully everyone here likes my kind of cooking.”
Charie winced. Sympathy tinged her hazel eyes. “I’m sorry. You’ve been thrown in during really busy times. It’ll all be normal afterwards—sort of—we’ll have the Lunar Ball prep going on as well soon. The ball will be happening in ten days, timed perfectly with the full moon.”
Lenore’s brows pinched subtly. “Will that also involve cooking for not only just our pack but also all of the other packs out there?”
“Well—yes—but we get help from the other ranks too. And then after, everyone gets to enjoy the food.” Charie bit into another cracker.
“After all the work’s toil, it’s... it’s a nice respite.
” Her eyes looked down. “At the ball, all the Caerniths take the first bite of each other’s food.
It's a sign of peace, and for the hierarchies of every pack to disappear for the night. Everyone can mingle with each other. You can...” Her voice grew softer, a touch of melancholy threading through her words.
“… talk to other werewolves that you wouldn’t dare to approach otherwise. ”
A contemplative silence hung over Charie as her gaze remained tethered to the ground.
Lenore stared at her, uncertain whether her words were truly meant for her.
Even so, she offered a gentle smile toward Charie.
“That is a sweet sentiment.” She blinked in thought.
“There were probably similar events, maybe, back where I used to live. It was all for the political figures though, so definitely not something I ever participated in.”
Charie glanced back up. “Your life in the city must’ve been so different. I only visited large towns a few times for business purposes, and it was so different from a werewolf’s everyday life.” She smiled back at Lenore. “I hope you’ll be able to enjoy yourself.”
“I hope so too.” Lenore held onto the shred of optimism in the words offered. There was something to look forward to, something that meant there might be a future past the underlying belly of troubles.
After a moment’s pause, Charie spoke. “With all that being said, are you ready to wrap up soon? I have plenty to show you once we get going.”
“If I can eat as much as I want before that, I’ll happily come along.” Lenore put together an assembly of cheeses and meats on one cracker while Charie giggled.