Lion Head Mesa what are the odds,

It was not the wolves who told Mouseberry of her role, but Jawahir.

Mouseberry revolted at the idea of it, though only to they. In nature, it was true, The Runners served The Great Ones... from a distance! Not so close to their teeth that they could kill you. Those that were not swift enough had taught The Runners to be quick, and to be always wary.

And so, Mouseberry was a terrible attendant. It was difficult, to fight her very nature. She fought it by staying, and it was exhausting enough, though she was fed. To have a role among her Runners, that would suit her better, but Mouseberry had not the wits to argue. It was decided. 

It might keep the pale Great One away, Pharaoh he was called. Most of all, Mouseberry feared him, but her interactions with the rest were limited. Mouseberry was small, and Mouseberry was quiet. She would not make trouble. She would not seek it, either. It would seem that who she was meant to serve might be just as displeased by the idea as she, for to her knowledge (though Mouseberry mostly kept hidden) she had not been sought.

More wolves were here now. More scents. More beings to hide from. But Mouseberry was hungry today; she made herself small, to seek something to contribute this time. Not so starved as she had been to start, Mouseberry at least could understand there was a debt to repay.

But it was for, and to, Jawahir.