Shy Deer Steppes she the hunted

While she tugged again, the other spoke.

Food had always been a priority to Mouseberry, standing right alongside survival. They were, to her, very much one of the same.

Runners could deceive other Runners, she knew, but the other was not alongside her to steal their own scraps. To steal the ones she prized away. So, there must be some truth. And as she did manage to tear more from the carcass, she looked to the stranger while moving (not so quickly this time) to the space that would shelter her while she ate.

The stranger was her opposite.

She, skin and bones. They, soft and supple from many good suppers.

Yes, some truth...

Her conflicted gaze was easy to read; nothing had ever been so easy. Nothing in this life was free; there was often a price to be paid. That need not have even been told to her, though it had been. Life had taught her this, too. Her life had always been one of risk, and as she scarfed down her scraps amidst the brambles...

Mouseberry emerged partway, looking to her fellow Runner. Where? she breathed, large ears listening.