Shy Deer Steppes she the hunted

Mouseberry was quick, in all things except for thinking.

She wolfed down the small share she had snatched, though was not quite finished before another spoke in a sweet voice. It was the voice of a Runner, sweet and kind as Mouseberry interpreted it. Mouseberry did not fear to hear from one of what she herself was; with them, she could coexist. Often pass by without trouble.

The coyote finished what little was left of her morsel. Runners could still steal from other Runners. It would not have been the first time.

Emerging from her brambled fortress, Mouseberry—all hip-bones and rib-cage—was quick to find the other, though they blended well. That is what we must be, she only said in answer, before she again sought another meager portion to tear away and devour in the place which food would not be stolen... not so easily.