Bylgja saw his expression. Tired. Nervous. She understood. If he was a Thrall, truly, he was likely used to a hard life, one way or the other. Bylgja was not a woman of sentimentality, really, but the youth deserved to live. He deserved to feel the warmth of life. The way it felt to have the blood truly roaring.
"Good!" He agreed to her terms, and Bylgja nodded once. "I will have you help me find healing herbs as well." She stretched out her forelimbs. It was a simple request, but it made sense-- the woman was heavily tattooed, which indicated she was at least passingly aware with the healing arts, or the arts of scarification. "AH! Strai. I misunderstood, earlier." It is not... an apology. Not directly, just as he did not thank her. But she does acknowledge him, nonetheless. "... would you like to learn dyes, Strai? I will grind them into my axe later." Here, she glances at him again, and her ears are swiveled keenly forward. "You can also dye your fur, if you wanted." She wouldn't bore him with ramblings about color and fashion, but... Bylgja clearly appreciated it.
"Bylgja"
