silver is the grip on the helping hand

Bylgja stretched out. She got comfortable, eyes half-closed and sides rising, falling. The day had been busy. Now that she was in her den, she felt pleased but also became aware of being tired.

"No, I don't mind. Just, uh-- if you knock something over, pick it up. All of that. Is not a problem, though!" She beamed, tongue lolling between her teeth. "Besides. How else will you get out of the cold, eh?"