Larentia raised her brows as she watched the muscly warrior, one of the more recent arrivals to Ranjord, take on the shark. He won, too. Belatedly, it came to the witch’s mind that any normal caring wolf would have helped, but she really didn’t care, because she wasn’t typical.
“You should have Isolde or Esmeray check that shoulder, fróðr maðr, lest it turn ugly,” she called out from the brush. “I recommend Isolde, our heirtheta; she’s an attentive and dutiful girl. My daughter has her merits, but tenderness, patience, and duty are not any of them.” The Old Norse rolled seamlessly off the woman’s tongue, words learned long past in a different life. How far away those days in Beartooth’s cage seemed, how long ago. “Let not the arrogance of the male sex misle your judgment, hmm?”

"I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain."