Bearclaw Valley And now there'll be no time to play

There was no way to know what to expect. The woman took the offered limb and placed it upon the altar; the stone face of the tableau was cold and smooth, and the woman's touch was warm, even when she grasped for Indra's limb with her teeth.
This was one of the rare moments of physical contact within this strange place. Indra would try to remember this; it was a lesson like any other moment, but more importantly she was touch-starved and would endure whatever was necessary for that contact.
Until those teeth dragged through her skin. The shock of the initial wound made Indra's eyes water and she stared, horrified, as blood welled up across her fur and stained it a deep crimson. She felt dizzy at the sight of it. The pain came after, threatening to sweep her feet out from under her. Indra focused through the sheen in her eyes. She held the urge to cry at bay with the grit of her own teeth.
The woman was talking.
Something about -- tend, tending -- moss, herbs. Help. Indra withdrew her limb when she was able and nodded furiously, her tears catching in the fur of her cheeks. Follow her. Follow her and she'd be cared for.