Lion Head Mesa fatat khadra'

They drew near, too near, to Jawahir, who Mouseberry owed nothing to for the deception she felt was done, but she still blanched as The Great One was then a fatal proximity by her own estimation to their throat. But The Great One withdrew, and there was no blood.

Was she the sacrifice then? 

Mouseberry's gaze widened as she was pushed nearer then. Self preservation dictate she tuck herself low, make herself smaller. Easy to do, small as she was. Jawahir spoke again, and Mouseberry felt her frantic heartbeat. Look. Smell. She was fear incarnate, near desperate with it.

How many times, had she stolen from The Great Ones? They had chased her away, tasting nothing but the air as she fled.

And this was to be her end.

Great One, she willed, voice shaking with the rest of her, have mercy this day. I did not dream to steal from you this day, truth, truth, truth, not this day, but she could not promise the coming ones, could make no promises ever, to come here with Jawahir, it had been a mistake, but let it not be her final one...!