That's fine. I doubt you will be the only person keeping track, especially if there's more than a handful of us. If someone wants to keep it quiet, they either won't answer, or will answer privately.

[She briefly flips to video, to show a clear shot of the inside of her left forearm, where there's a slightly ragged circle of pale scar tissue that looks far, far older than just over a week.]

For your records, I got this on one of the ferryboats, between the library and the beach. It's the only injury I took that would have scarred in the real world. The minor scrapes did not carry over.

Have you tried?

[It's not a suggestion, it's a suspicion.]

I think we will need to lay down some very clear ground rules for that. I remember how hard you hit. [There's a playfulness in her voice that makes it clear she doesn't hold that flood against him. But the fact of the matter is, he hits like a truck, and she doesn't have anything to protect her against that any more.]

[She responds in the same tongue, grin audible in her voice.]

I was hoping you might be, but I didn't want to assume.

Are you all right with our young werewolf sitting in to watch?

I can only imagine.

[A pause, and a brief, humourless laugh.]

It's been a week, and I still occasionally have to check my pulse to make sure my heart's still beating.

What?

[There's only barely enough inflection to make it a question.]