The Mating Run by Leeka

Months Before The Mating Run

“I don’t see the point of it, Alina.”

As we jog in the morning, Ettie completely brushes off the suggestion I make, and I let out a sigh of

frustration.

For the past few days, I’ve been considering registration, but the thought of going through it alone is

making me apprehensive. It would be a good opportunity for Ettie to participate, especially since we’re

around the same age.

The High Council Elders will choose a mate for her in two years if she doesn’t take matters into her

own hands.

“You’re not seriously gonna let those decrepit old farts decide your fate for you, right, Ettie?”

“They must be experts at this. Besides, my legs aren’t cut out for it. Did ya see how quick those

Hunters run? Climbing trees and swimming aren’t my thing. Alina, I’ll die out there, you know it.”

“You’re never gonna survive with that negative attitude.”

Ettie bends over, hands on her knees, huffing and puffing as she tries to catch her breath, sweat

pouring down her face. Despite doing morning jogs for ages, Ettie still complains about the steep hill at

the halfway point. There are times when I suspect she’s not being honest about her weariness,

possibly to avoid our early morning jogs, given her lazy tendencies.

“If you want me to, I can support you from the stands. I’ll have a big sign ready with your name on it for

when you finally get mated.”

Ettie’s answer is predictable, so I grumble under my breath, not disappointed in the slightest.

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Though I can’t make her do anything, I hope she won’t blame me if the High Council Elders select an

ugly mate for her. Once I become a Hider, I have faith that I will be found by only the best, and I will

have the power to choose.

Every year, the Springcrest Pack celebrates the Mating Run, a tradition that dates back generations.

Those aged 18-25 have the opportunity to register and find their mates each year. The celebration is

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meant for bonding and matches, with plenty of weddings, yet everyone knows it’s nothing more than a

giant unspoken orgy.

On the day of the event, contenders will be divided into two groups: Hiders and Hunters.

The selection will depend on their overall health and performance leading up to the event. Those who

don’t register for the Mating Run will have to rely on the High Council Elders to choose a mate for them

once they turn 25.

And so… maybe the High Council Elders do make good pairings, but they always acknowledged the

possibility of separation.

The Mating Run, on the other hand, has a track record of creating strong matches, like my parents who

met during their time.

It’s the Hunters who do the chasing, relentlessly pursuing the Hiders.

When it comes to chasing, gender is irrelevant.

Both men and women can be skilled Hunters. They are the ones who shine during interviews before

the celebration, gathering the most support from the crowd. They’re the ones that endure the pre-trials

and show great endurance, proving to the rest of the pack that they have the best overall ability.

Meanwhile, it is the Hiders’ job to stay hidden.

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The Hiders have at least five hours to prepare before the game begins, scouting for the perfect hiding

spot along the trail. Rather than relying on strength, Hiders highlight their fragility and sensuality in

interviews.

Sponsors tend to favor Hiders, so they often receive the most gifts.

During the Mating Run, gifts from sponsors are essential for survival, as food and weapons become

increasingly scarce with each passing day. With my height and frame being a disadvantage, I’ve been

training myself to be a Hider, honing my skills in camouflage and evasion.

Hiders have it easier, they don’t have to worry about strategy or being detected.

They just have to hide and wait.

With that thought lingering, I make a beeline for the shower as soon as I get home, eager to freshen up

before heading out to City Hall.

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Outside, a line of people with envelopes and folders are already forming.

From the line, I can immediately predict who will be chosen as Hunters and Hiders.

It takes me a while to even get inside.

The registration process involves a brief physical examination, recording of vital signs, a psychological

evaluation, and a personal interview. Although they go through the formalities, every member of the

pack knows that when it comes to the trial, rules don’t apply, and anything can happen.

And when I say anything – I mean anything.

“Alina Mockett!”

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As soon as I hear my name called from the receptionist area, I stand up with my envelope in hand.

I feel dizzy with excitement, even though I have been preparing for this moment my entire life.

I take a deep breath and make my way to the office with the ‘Clinic‘ sign, determined to face whatever

lay ahead. While scribbling on a clipboard, my doctor, an elderly woman and member of the High

Council Elders, scrutinizes me from head to toe. Before I could even hand her my envelope, she starts

speaking her mind.

“Short. You’re aware that you’re short, right?”

Feeling self-conscious, I grimace.

I’m 5’2″, which I consider a normal enough height, but in comparison to the others from my pack, I

guess I’m one of the shortest. As she walks around me, the doctor taps her pen on the clipboard,

sighing again. I stand as still as I can, hoping that the makeup I put on earlier won’t run down my face.

“Thin. Well, your skin looks good, so that’s something. Your hair’s black and a bit on the shorter side,

but we can add some makeup to make you pop instead. You’re… alright, maybe, but not stunning.

Totally not stunning.”

“…Thank you?”

As the doctor continues with the check-up, I can feel the cold stethoscope against my skin, and my

heart rate quickens with every shake of her head. When she weighs me, I’m relieved that she doesn’t

make any comments about my weight.

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The psychological examination is straightforward, involving only the identification of a happy emoticon

and an assessment of my ability to control aggressive tendencies. The doctor swiftly takes the

envelope from my hand, which contains my registration form and a couple of photographs of my face.

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Then, she hands me a pamphlet, and a sheaf of printouts to read through.

Overwhelmed by how quick the process is, I accept them.

“Alright, here’s a list of places where you can hide that suit you best if you get selected as a Hider. Oh,

and there’s also a trail map and guide in there, which gives the quickest routes in case you end up

being a Hunter. We’ve got a whole squad of designers, make-up artists, and a nutritionist to make sure

you’re all set for the event. Keep in mind, the Mating Run can run for a long time, so make sure you’re

healthy and have plenty of sponsors.”

“O-okay.”

“Any questions?”

“No…?”

“Next!”

Blinking in surprise, I look down at the pamphlets in my hand, feeling the glossy paper against my

fingertips as I walk out of City Hall.

The air outside is thick with the sound of snapping cameras and excited chatter as a crowd of

photographers and interviewers gathers to document the Mating Run participants.

I’m so focused on trying to hide from the press by flipping through the pages of the Hider manual that I

don’t even notice the person calling out my name.

My head snaps up so fast that dizziness washes over me, and my eyes immediately focus on the last

person I expected to see.

“Ettie?”

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