Shy Deer Steppes she the hunted

Food on the wind.

Fleetfooted, she moved toward it while taking care to determine what else the wind carried.

No hint of the Great One. That was good. That was a relief. The drylands rarely provided in her experience, but today they did. No doubt the Great Ones were to thank, but They had come and gone. There was little left to the carcass by the time Mouseberry spotted it; even the vultures had their fill and were nowhere near, it appeared.

Cautiously, Mouseberry darted toward it. No others, not yet. Quick as a whip, she broke for the old thing and ripped sundried meat from it. Tough, she noted, but there was no hint of decay. Mouseberry stole away with her meager morsel and rushed for a thorny underbrush that would hold her, a place where she could safely scarf it down.