Bearclaw Valley Este's been losin' sleep.

The sound of claws cutting in to the dense clay, echoing up and along the cleft of stillrift, might have been unnerving for how closely it resembled the sound of nails on a chalkboard.
It was as if something was digging a grave.
When Indra came away from the darkness and sat back, covered in mud and dirt and with at least one claw upon her forefeet chipped and bleeding, she looked upon what she had done and smiled.
In the dirt was etched a fake altar. There was a large divot in the center and smaller ones fanning from the corners, arranged in the way she had seen Arielle's altar from before. It was messily cut in to the dirt and didn't look all that impressive - or identifiable, really - but she was pleased with it.
Within one of the smaller divots she'd placed some dried flowers she had found (more like the withered caps of some weeds), while in another was a smooth stone she had unearthed during the work: white on one side, dark on the other.
Mama, thought Indra as she looked upon the flower.
Brother, with her red-rimmed eyes upon the stone.