Bee frowns in immediate concern when he tugs himself free - something was clutching onto him, perhaps trying to eat him? She doesn't want to imagine what. Instead he moves slowly, trying not to jostle him, away from the grate and sits herself down on the floor, back against the sofa.

"Oh, darling," she murmurs. "You're bleeding." She doesn't want to get too close to him or prod around without being able to see better. And poor thing, he's so afraid. "Can you tell me how bad it is?"