Lion Head Mesa 羽毛 gaichū

cameo, unless called back!

Mouseberry remained avoidant. She clung to the hip of Jawahir as oft she could, and when Jawahir was gone Mouseberry had found a place to hide where she had never been found. Whether or not the others were being kind and that was not the truth was a mystery Mouseberry did not investigate. There were wolves about, and Mouseberry still shirked at the idea of being near to The Great Ones.

But Jawahir had been absent for longer than she liked.

She must be dead. Ramesses must have grown tired of their ilk, and Mouseberry thought it might be time to go herself, too, before his appetite turned toward her. Mouseberry felt she had tried to convince Jawahir of the truth that must have transpired, but the guilt was great. It made her steps distracted. It led her near the den of the wolves.

Not near. To. A beautiful one. Both beautiful, truly, in comparison to her. Strong and fit and made for killing. Of prey. Of The Runners.

She hoped she had not been seen. Hoped and prayed as she pressed against a similarly colored stone and made to flee back to the den which she believed she could never be found.