Shy Deer Steppes she the hunted

Food on the wind.

Fleetfooted, she moved toward it while taking care to determine what else the wind carried.

No hint of the Great One. That was good. That was a relief. The drylands rarely provided in her experience, but today they did. No doubt the Great Ones were to thank, but They had come and gone. There was little left to the carcass by the time Mouseberry spotted it; even the vultures had their fill and were nowhere near, it appeared.

Cautiously, Mouseberry darted toward it. No others, not yet. Quick as a whip, she broke for the old thing and ripped sundried meat from it. Tough, she noted, but there was no hint of decay. Mouseberry stole away with her meager morsel and rushed for a thorny underbrush that would hold her, a place where she could safely scarf it down.

the vultures hung upon hot drafts above—bloated, disinterested.
listless, as pharaoh was busy silencing maggie for a time, jawahir separated from the mesa and could be found creeping among the stones below. it was here they spied a skittering creature not unlike themselves, first snatching at the earth and then making carom to the nearest shelter.
humming softly, jawahir called to them from a high place.
my sweet, you are a quick little thing.
unlike the caterwauling of maggie with her rough voice, jawahir was saccharine.

Mouseberry was quick, in all things except for thinking.

She wolfed down the small share she had snatched, though was not quite finished before another spoke in a sweet voice. It was the voice of a Runner, sweet and kind as Mouseberry interpreted it. Mouseberry did not fear to hear from one of what she herself was; with them, she could coexist. Often pass by without trouble.

The coyote finished what little was left of her morsel. Runners could still steal from other Runners. It would not have been the first time.

Emerging from her brambled fortress, Mouseberry—all hip-bones and rib-cage—was quick to find the other, though they blended well. That is what we must be, she only said in answer, before she again sought another meager portion to tear away and devour in the place which food would not be stolen... not so easily.

the girl emerged with a soft word and a rawboned frame. jawahir looked them over, cunning gaze finding the hollows and painful angles.
there was a glint of purple on the face of the survivalist.
i know a place where you will not have to scrape for your meals, qamar jayie.
jawahir searched among the thorns for that hint of precious stone.

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.

jawahir smiled. the girl was sweet, honey behind a clouded glass. one needed only to polish the flighty waif. it is called akashingo. they gestured in that direction with a delicate paw. and i am called jawahir. come. i will see you fed tonight.
hunger was a powerful motivator. they thought of what pharaoh might think of the little changeling. what is your name?
as they asked, the jewel descended, until each of them stood equal.

A place she had never heard of.

No surprise, as she had not heard of very much. Her social skills were a bit stunted for it, and none could call the bedraggled coyote graceful in any sense of the word. Mouseberry needed little convincing, when food was on the proverbial table. The beryl eyed girl emerged from her shroud of thorns in full now.

Mouseberry shrank some even still, a natural skeptic. Mouseberry, she appropriately squeaked as she beheld the jewel; a prettier thing than her, in every way.

jawahir smiled. it was a name that fit the shy and shrinking creature. for now. there were more fitting words to describe what she would become.
from where did you come before? they asked. the mesa was growing. it was already palatial. and they themselves had procured the loveliest decorations.
jawahir trotted in peaceful silence, at ease with the choices made to win and hold the heart and flesh of ramesses.

The question was one that did, in fact, surprise her. Many things would.

Everywhere, she answered, not at all very thoughtfully. And it was the truth. Even as a young cub, Mouseberry had been on the run with her family. And when she could hunt on her own, and after her mother and father again sought one another, she ran alone.

Mouseberry had not stopped since she had begun. It was another reason she was so lean. Hardly muscular or strong, but made and accustomed to her lifestyle. She looked to Jawahir, cautious still, and asked, is it not the same for you?

not any more.

and it was true. they gleamed at being the only thing ramesses would worship.

jawahir wondered if there was a true deception in avoiding all mention of him. but that one would earn his own place in mouseberry's eye.

stay with me. i will show you many things.

Mouseberry felt no suspicion. What she was offered was plenty, and sometimes it was known that a Runner would look out for another in such a way. Mouseberry had not the luck, but it seemed such was changing. She was grateful, and dipped her head to the other in thanks, but only said, not wanting to seem as though she was greedy, I do not need many things. Only food, and to live another day. That was enough. And so, Mouseberry followed, thinking that Jawahir would grant her that much.