silver is the grip on the helping hand

He was clearly uncomfortable, but Bylgja needed to be sure. She had seen injuries that looked fine turn ... darker, infected. She had seen a man survive a fall, only to die later from something that had broken inside of him, something nestled within his guts that someone else had missed.

But once she was done, she stepped back and looked relieved to have done so.

Much better.

Her tail flicked. "Good. I wanted to be sure." Then she collected the pelt-pieces that had been set aside for her. "Thank you for these. I will begin making you ... something. Come-- we should take the share back. I can show you my den, for when you wish to rest in it."