Lion Head Mesa fatat khadra'

@Mouseberry first, then @Ramesses <3

jawahir led the slinking creature through the flatlands, toward the mesa. its regal red head reared, stone and plateau against the sky. there is akashingo, they told their charge with a creamy smile.
pharaoh would see the pair before they came close to the threshold. jawahir called for him, leading mouseberry to the stone promontories where ramesses stood.
their eyes flickered to the young coyote-woman. do not fear him. he will not harm you.

Mouseberry followed, quiet and intrigued. As they came to where Akashingo was, Mouseberry had little time to admire it. There was a scent here that belonged not to The Runners, but The Great One...

Was that so noteworthy? Was this not the way of the cajoling Great One? Her Shangri La, gone too soon... gone before she even could know it. It was her poor fortune. Mouseberry was no good luck charm. Bad luck, it seemed, as her gaze then beheld a body of one that plagued her, them.

She should run, now, and she darted away while Jawahir spoke. An open book, there was no denying the bewilderment upon her features. The Great One picks his teeth with bones of The Runner, when it pleases them, her gaze read. Jawahir had caused her to hesitate, a costly thing, a thing that could mean death.

It was why she had, for all this time, elected to run alone.

Look what happened the moment she did not.

He will not harm you.

They, together, were The Runners... not The Deceivers of Many Names, those smaller, clever red things. Mouseberry did not know whether or not to trust the stranger or not. Fear was what kept her alive for so long. She embraced it, embraced the way it all but brought wings to her legs as she flew away.

Fear was no enemy to her.

Confusion was, the thing that kept her rooted. Uncertainty. Worse than each of those things, hope.

It was a rule, a way of life, that the Runner would never stop; but she was bone-tired, now. Runners... could they not rest?

ramesses had watched his jewel approach with the ribbon of redstone that seemed to blend against the sands of the mesa.
in time he stood. pharaoh's muzzle dipped to jawahir; he went to kiss her cheek with a honeyed purl, and then set his cunning lazuli eyes upon the unpolished gem she had brought into their midst.
"who is this?" he asked pleasantly of jawahir, letting his gaze linger brazenly upon the too-hollowed flanks and shrinking, darting thinness of the girl, all angles beneath fur unkempt by his standards.
yet he too saw the jeweling of her eyes, and saw what she could be.

jawahir accepted pharaoh's show, turning up their cheek for his caress. ramesses was so easily guided by his lusts. they watched as the intensity of his eyes swallowed their offering.
her name is mouseberry. i told her she might find a meal and rest here.
watching ramesses as they spoke, jawahir slipped behind the girl, meaning to gently press her forward with an encouraging brush of their warm flank. look how she is frightened of your kind. i assured her she would not be harmed.
but they felt that the girl would not rest until she had heard this from pharaoh himself.

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...!

ram out!

the girl's voice trembled in the air, incense before the sensibilities of pharaoh. yes — he was pleased, and the entitled fire of his stare shone hot and wanting over her bowed head. "i do not think you have come here to steal. and you have not been brought here to be kept," ramesses went on. some dealers in a darker market used force for their offering. akashingo would not be such a place, and promising as she might be, the royal did not intend to trap the girl.
"feed our guest," he told jawahir lightly, at last turning his gaze toward her. "see that she bathes and sleeps. when you rise, mouseberry," pharaoh went on, "i will introduce you to the rest of us."
the girl was far too terrified and underfed to truly influence his ardor — yet. ramesses had no doubt that jawahir would make of her a far more crystalline thing, and choose the moment in which mouseberry might be summoned to his rooms.
pharaoh was generous. patient. 
having given his edict, ramesses swept grandly away, filled with the rich and energetic desire and its anticipation.

jawahir missed nothing. mouseberry cried out and pharaoh was further pleased. their gift was well-received. but mouseberry was not only a gift. they too did not enjoy seeing the starvation among their own kind.
he is called pharaoh, jawahir breathed, coming to stand before mouseberry once more. their eyes weighed the amethyst gaze. there is no dishonour in coexistence with his kind. he prizes us as we are.
ramesses had disappeared into the cool shadows of akashingo. jawahir urged mouseberry forward with a tilt of their fine head.

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.

jawahir shook their head, a light motion. ramesses makes sport, but he is no hunter.

the gemstone was unrefined. they had little doubt that mouseberry had no inkling of what this place was intended to be.

but she would learn. come. let me show you the gifts he had given. sleep. when you wake, all will be clearer.

they made as if to urge the girl into the shadowed hallway.