Lion Head Mesa fatat khadra'

He left. And her shoulders lifted once he had gone, all words unheard as Jawahir spoke.

We have always coexisted with The Great Ones, she agreed, uncertain still and shaken by the encounter. She was caught entirely by surprise. This is... it was surely different. To sleep near the wolves? We are sport for The Great Ones, she went on, it is part of why they are The Great Ones, and we are The Runners.

Run from the meal when they come. Run from them when you steal. Run when you drift too close to their sleeping place, which now Mouseberry lingered in. Mouseberry was no leader, and was cowed by the others urging, drifting that way. But her hesitance was still all too clear. Prizes us, she breathed, wondering what that meant. We are as prey to The Great Ones, she breathed, trying to convince Jawahir of this truth.

She would blame herself, for leaving them—even if they had lied to her, she felt.