She notes the slight flush to his cheeks, and it occurs to her that she could take the words back, or make an excuse for them. It is the sort of comment one friend might make to another back home, and not the sort of thing you'd have to take at face value. Elsewise, she probably wouldn't have said it at all.

But she'd only make things awkward -- or more awkward -- if she backtracked. Besides, a small, stubborn, curious part of her doesn't want to take it back. It might be more fun to see what happened if Rowan actually made something of the offer.

At any rate, the dog's health comes first. "Now, we put his leg back," she says, pulling her focus back to the job at hand. "And I think it's going to be a two-person job. I can quiet his nerves so it doesn't pain him so much, but I can't do that and set the bone back in place." Normally this is the sort of thing she'd do at the clinic, with one of the veterinarians manipulating the injured limb while she provided a sort of magical anesthetic. But if it's just her and Rowan, well, there's only one half of that equation she can ask of him.

She ruffles the dog's ears encouragingly, then looks up at Rowan. "Could you try? I can walk you through it, once I'm in there." She'll have a clear view, and Rowan couldn't fight as well as he does if he didn't have steady hands. She's fair certain they can manage it, between the two of them.