Leila inclined her head at him. She supposed that made sense. She'd seen enough of the slums and of poverty to see the sorts of people who might need his help, might be grateful for it. It was not equal to his former life, she was sure - she had dreamed often enough before of becoming assistant head of a ward, even healer-in-charge one day - but at least it was...

She had meant to pick up the sheet again, but just sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly too overwhelmed to focus on two things at once, even if the other was a mindless chore.

"Maybe from you," Leila said slowly, doing her best to repress a sigh. The feeling came out in a little involuntary shrug instead, as if she might pretend in it she was not impressed. See, even if she changed her name, hid the scars on her face as well as she could, escaped being recognised as the werewolf she was - even then, she had only been an intern. Hadn't gotten very far with it, either, before... So she wasn't qualified. Didn't know enough. Patched herself up by trial and error more these days than from any memory of the things she'd been taught or the books she'd read. That had not been an option for her. She hadn't had a lot of options.

But she was glad for Mr. Belby.

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