Blackfeather Woods bruised by god

The other woman shuffles back and she can only tell by sound as she settles back somewhere else. Her submission must be enough to prevent any further touching, but she does not understand why she is still breathing and not a bloody mess on the claimed land. Slowly, her nose moves across damp soil but she doesn’t know where to angle herself. Not that it matters, anyway.
 
Ocra swallows a hard lump in her throat (which is still exposed), and offers a gentle whine that causes her to flinch away, but remains otherwise silent on the ground.