AISLYNThe morning of our mating ceremony arrives without cahos, without commotion, without the world trying to tear itself apart.

That alone feels like a miracle.

Sunlight spills across the den’s ceremonial clearing, soft and gold, filtering through ancient trees that have witnessed generations of vows, some broken, some honored, some paid for in blood. Today, the air feels… steady. As if the land itself has decided to stop holding its breath.

I stand at the edge of the clearing, dressed in ...