It was hard to believe that our little trip had already lasted over a month. Our routine varied; sometimes we rode for days without stopping, other times we camped for several days. Nights in the tents were… eventful, with more men than women in our lust-driven pack. As an alpha female, and responsible for procuring meat, I was hunting. It was time to set up camp, rest, and see what awaited us. Mimosa and I were skilled hunters.
While at the forest's edge, I witnessed a dilemma. A lone wagyu cow stood distressed; several dingos had fled upon sensing me, but the cow's calf lay dead, small, almost newborn. Her heavy udders were clearly visible. We already had meat—Mimosa had just secured three kangaroos—so I wasn't compelled to kill the cow.
However, I saw an opportunity. Remembering a passage from Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House in the Big Woods, I realized we could obtain milk, and perhaps even cheese. The book described using a calf's stomach, containing rennin, to make cheese—this calf was perfectly suited. We could eat the calf, use its stomach, and milk the cow for days, gaining milk, cream, and cheese.
However, it had only been a book, and I had no idea how to milk a cow, nor did Salvatore know how to make cheese—which of the four calf stomachs should we use? My plan was haphazard, but I was willing to try. We had dried milk and cream powder for coffee, but the thought of fresh cream cheese, cream sauce, or even béchamel made my stomach rumble. I envisioned all the possibilities.
That book had been crucial; as I planned my next steps, a fun idea popped into my mind: What would it be like to live in those conditions—no electricity, no modern amenities, if this survival scenario became the new normal? I could even suggest it.
Damon would have no problem—he was ancient—but Mariella and even Mimosa might struggle, not to mention the others. Perhaps it was a semi-romantic daydream, those books romanticizing the simplicity of life back then without delving into the harsh realities.
I mentally communicated with Mimosa through our hive bond: "Mimosa, I have a proposition. Would you like cheese, milk, cream, and a calf? I've found a cow whose calf is dead, but her udders are full. We could use the calf's stomach for rennin to make cheese and keep the cow for a few days. I don't know how much milk she'll give, but it's something. And who knows, maybe the Salvatores can even develop a way to increase her milk production. We can eat the calf."
Mimosa replied, "Oh wow, good idea! Can you get the cow? I'll teleport the carcasses to camp and say nothing until we have our milker."
I shifted into human form, reached for my ponytail, and began unraveling a hairband.
I replied to Mimosa in a calm voice, "I've got her; don't worry. I'll let you know when she's secured, and I'll deliver the calf to camp as well. Our progress is slow, given that we're in the middle of this dense forest, so the cow can walk with us. However, let's see what our packmaster says."
A slight smile curved my lips as I calmly approached the calf, teleporting it near Mimosa so she could move it to camp or order the Salvatores to fetch it. Approaching the cow, I had now unraveled my hairband—actually a long length of paracord—untied. I used it to create a makeshift harness, looping it around the cow's neck and tying it to a tree.
Transforming into a bird, I flew to the Queen in the camp. Few pack members were around, each occupied with their own tasks. I dug into my saddlebags with all sorts of goodies that I had stashed there, and I found a small, collapsible vessel—perhaps two liters in capacity—and held it as I flew back to the cow as a parrot.
As I flew in the dense forest, I saw the Salvatores processing Mimosa's recent kill: three large male kangaroos. They were somewhat distant, focusing on dismembering and chopping the animals.
I landed near the cow, approached, and crouched down. Opening the vessel, I placed it beneath the cow's udders. Never having milked an animal before, I was unsure of the proper technique. I firmly grasped a nipple and pulled; nothing came out, but the cow mooed in distress. Apologizing, I lessened my grip and tried again.
This time, the cow kicked me. I muttered a curse. This wasn't easy, and if the animal continued kicking, I might… I tried again, still to no avail. Sighing, I considered other approaches—pulling harder, trying a different nipple, or grasping the udder higher. Why couldn't this be easier? My smug plan was unraveling as I realized I had no idea how to milk a cow, or perhaps the cow had no milk.
Continuing my frustrating attempts to milk the cow, I failed to notice how openly my bond with my husband, our pack leader, was broadcasting my frustration.
Damon Salvatore, ever amused, asked through our bond, "What on earth are you doing, baby? I sense you're upset and something's not working."
I sighed, rolling my eyes at my failed plan to stroll into camp with a carton of milk. "I found a cow who lost her calf," I explained, a little bitterly. "Her udders are full, or so I thought, but nothing's coming out, and she keeps kicking me."
My husband chuckled mentally, saying, "Oh, baby, wait a moment. I'll show you; you have no idea how to milk a cow."
"I know," I retorted. "I'm pulling on these damn nipples, and nothing happens! She moos and kicks!"
Damon, still laughing, said, "Oh, baby, please don't molest the poor cow. I'm coming."
Soon, I heard him approaching. He walked calmly to the clearing, watched as I grabbed these damn udders and pulled but no stream of milk came out, instead cow tried to move as my grasp was not gentle enough as I was getting pissed off.
He smiled widely, saying, "Move over. Don't abuse the poor cow with your pulling. Let me show you. Good catch, baby. There are not so many nasty herbs, so this milk should be fine. We can even use the calf's stomach to make cheese later, but first, let me ease her udders."
I stepped aside as Damon crouched, muttering something inaudible to the cow before beginning to milk. His grips were sure and gentle enough; he knew what he was doing. Streams of frothy milk quickly filled my small vessel. My sour expression didn't escape his notice; he quickly filled another two-liter vessel, which he had conjured up with a spell, repeating the process several times, yielding about ten liters in total.
He teleported the full vessels to camp, saying, "See? It's a skill that's learned. She still has some milk left, but we can finish emptying her at camp. That'll help her. By the way, where did you get that rope?"
I smiled and said, "I'm good at preparing, so I have my little stuff."
Damon stood up, unhooked the cow's rope from the tree, and started walking her toward camp. He turned the rope in his hands, and it was clearly disturbed by it.
He muttered, "Sure, I think it's time to make Mariella's idea a reality—sharing what we each have, like those ropes or your little vessel. We can all use them, you know."
My husband's expression wasn't entirely calm and kind as he telepathically delved into my mind, seeking what I possessed. A sharp bout of headache lanced through my skull.
I picked up one of my bracelets, saying, "See, this is paracord—thin, durable, and able to hold a heavy load. I know how to make this macramé bracelet, so there's quite a length of rope here. Basic survival stuff; surely you've seen this somewhere?"
I kept my voice innocent, knowing Damon was too arrogant to appreciate human inventions in the wilderness, so I concealed my smugness. He took the bracelet, turning it in his hand as we walked back to the campsite through the thick forest.
He murmured, "Oh really? And let me guess, you have more of this rope?"
I nodded. "It's light, easy to carry, and you never know when you'll need rope. Look," I pointed upward into the canopy where little sunlight filtered through the dense foliage.
He looked at the towering trees, inhaling the heat, humidity, and various scents of the Australian forest—or jungle, whatever it was. "So what?" he asked dismissively.
As we neared the campsite, I replied, "As you know, Mariella and the other collectors have a hard time finding fruits and berries in this thick forest. But look, up there—vines, fruits, and berries, way up in the canopy."
He peered upward, squinting. "Well, let it be," he said dismissively. "No need for Mariella or anyone else to endanger themselves climbing that high. We can manage with fewer fruits."
Rolling my eyes, we finally reached the campsite. Mariella and the others had gathered only a few berries and some herbs; they were sweaty, pissed off, but the promise of milk and cream had improved their moods somewhat.
"Fine," I told Damon, "let me show you how it's done, since you lack imagination."
He scoffed, snorting, "Suit yourself, but don't come complaining if you fall and hurt yourself."
Shaking my head, I approached Queen and opened my saddlebags. It was time, once again, to show my pack how it's done. I selected several light net bags, capable of holding a considerable amount, and a few canvas bags for smaller items. I located a towering tree, where I detected the scent of fruit and spotted kiwi vines high up, perhaps even passionfruit. Transforming into a small monkey, my bags and paracord bracelets easily secured, I quickly and easily climbed.
"Yeah, of course, my unicorn," Wulfe commented in my mind, "I just didn't think of that. And from Salvatore's expression, your husband is a little annoyed with you, too."
"My love," I replied to Wulfe, my soulmate, "it's hardly my fault Salvatore can't use his brain. I can teach, too. And I don't need knives for my lessons."
Reaching a sufficient height to begin gathering supplies didn't take long, but I needed a controlled approach, as my monkey form couldn't carry a heavy load without help. Finding a suitable branch, and still in monkey form, I used my dexterous fingers to open one of my thicker, specially designed, stretchy bracelets.
Attaching one end to a branch and securing a small hook to a bag—I had several bracelets—I prepared three bags. They wouldn't unravel; each had a small stopper. With the bags ready, I nimbly began picking fruit, placing it in bags and pouches. I also pulled down the kiwi vines to make them more accessible. It took about 45 minutes to fill all my bags.
I said to Wulfe, "Ready? Come near this tree. See, I've unraveled quite a lot of passionfruit and kiwi vines. Levitate and grab them if you want."
Damon's bitter voice said, "Yeah, baby, we're ready. What's your plan here?"
I went to my now-full bags and removed the small stoppers. As the weight of the bags began to unravel the special macramé, they descended at a moderate pace. The stretch of the rope allowed them to reach even further. Once fully unraveled, the weight of the fruit stretched the ropes, enabling the bags to reach the pack members.
They took the full bags, and I loosened my knot, letting my rope fall to the ground. With all three bags delivered, I grabbed the vines, passionfruit, kiwis, and a few other fruits, and jumped down. My weight pulled the vines down, allowing for an easy landing. Salvatore was waiting to grab the vines as I reached the ground.
Changing back to human form, I said to Damon, who was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed and glaring at me, "That's how it's done, Salvatore. Watch and learn. Don't be too arrogant."
Murdock walked up, kissed me, and said, "Yeah, you did that damn thing on that one mission with Nathan and Owen, with those ropes. I should have remembered it."
I smiled, feeling smug as I walked back to base, grabbing my ropes and showing my husband a little victory. This was a survival exercise, but not too difficult for us. After all, the purpose was to challenge and unite us as a pack, focusing more on teamwork than wilderness survival skills.
Walking calmly, I let the heat and humidity wash over me, unable to deflect it. Reaching my tent, I crawled inside to sit for a while, allowing others to cook and prepare our meal. I'd done my part, and the coolness of my tent was a welcome respite.
My tent, constructed from a special fabric, stayed refreshingly cool by deflecting heat. I anticipated challenges on this trip, but I was prepared. However, I did experience the unsettling sensation of several telepaths probing my mind, searching for the monkey form so they could replicate it, or allow Mariella and others to do so. To distract myself, I began twisting and winding my ropes into macrame, but this only seemed to intensify their intrusion.
About a third of the way through my first rope, Number Two approached, admired my work, and commented on my tent, clearly suggesting he wanted to join me for the night. His voice was seductive as ever, and his comment about this tent needing some sanctification made my body react in a certain way, so strawberries and champagne were in the air as my arousal scent wafted from me.
I rolled my eyes; while my tents were generally considered pretty well sanctified, I'd had visitors before, sometimes for several nights, and Number One had spent a few nights with me as well. It seemed I was quite popular.
He then teleported my ropes away, smirking. I slowly realized that the Pack would attempt to seize anything I used, regardless of ownership. I sensed Number One trying to access my mission memories; the rope-making technique I was using was from a past mission, so I knew what worked and what didn't. Perhaps I could teach these arrogant slackers a few things. A smug smile played on my lips as I followed Number Two out of the tent.
"Let's see what the night brings," I said. "One never knows which way the wind is blowing."
"Come on," he replied, "food's almost ready, and I need to talk to you."
I swallowed. Was it now time for his promise? I pondered its implications, knowing I was powerless to prevent whatever was coming. I fell in behind him, ready to eat, drink, and face whatever lay ahead. There was this tension in my soul. On one point, his making a promise for me was all I ever had wanted, and then again, was I worthy of his love and devotion?
Despite my skills and my powers, there was a part of me that was very unsure of my self-worth, and I was more or less convinced that I was no good to anyone as a partner or wife. Maybe it was because of the past, Damon himself saying it to me time after time, or it was just my self-doubt and neurosis coming to the surface once again.