silver is the grip on the helping hand

He pushed, looking for the chains, the cage, and finding only open air. Every time he pushed, she gave. He wasn’t sure he knew how to handle that, either. Why did she want him? What did she get out of this? There had to be something. Some catch he wasn’t seeing. His eyes were weary, and still he watched her.

She laughed so easily, and took everything in stride. She was so cheerful and easy with life. He wondered for a moment what it would be like, to be like her. He took in a slow breath himself, partly timing it against her exhale. “You told me your last name, but I don’t remember it” he admitted, a little embarrassed. It hadn’t been important before. Now she was giving it to him. It was something of his own, when he scrambled and struggled to lay claim to anything as Thrall.

“I’ll do that. Maybe… somedays, I’ll stay in your den?” He ducked his head, still unaccustomed to the emotions. Then he raised his head again, and there was something else in his eyes. Determination. “There’s one more… favour, I would ask.” The words were uncomfortable on his lips. “There’s a dagger. My dagger. My mums before me. Vidarr… sto--took it, when he claimed me. It’s all I have left of her. I… would you ask him, for me?” He couldn’t keep his eyes on her, they dropped to his paws. Too much vulnerability. Too much weakness he was showing her. Telling her about something that mattered.

"Speech"