Dragoncrest Cliffs some things only god can forgive

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Mentions self harm.

Indra had completed her little altar alone and in the dark. She'd waited until everyone was asleep to find the patch of the meadow where she'd trashed the flowers and worked at it until the early morning, weeks ago. Since then she'd kept away from it — hunting for items of importance across the cliffside; observing people as they came and went; rarely did she interact with anyone except to murmur things to herself or flee from their company.
Today she approached the altar with a bundle of objects she'd quietly plundered from others. Most of it was innocuous. Seashells from the rendezvous, an old wing that looked as if it had been chewed by tiny teeth, and a strip or two of something green. Something had drawn her to these objects but even Indra wasn't certain about why she chose them — only that she needed them, and so she'd found a way to collect.
The objects were placed on the bare patches of earth that she'd cleared; one shell on each spot, the wing in the center, and then the pieces of aloe on the two outermost patches, so that it was almost evenly distributed.
The last thing Indra did, as she settled at the apex of these three piles, was surround her foreleg with her teeth and bite down, hard. As she pulled at the skin she grimaced but did not stop, not until blood came, and with a wave of her wrist she splattered the objects with blood. This was the magic of the bear. This was the kind of sacrifice she'd been taught of, in Ursus.