He had disconnected the bike trailer and now shook his head inspecting the destruction the werewolves caused. “Sorry about your bike,” she said. He shrugged still looking at the gash across the fuel tank and the twisted rear wheel. “Did the Ford start?” she asked. “No. I’m going to swap the batteries and see if it will turn over. Then we’ll see what other issues we need to deal with.” He went back to their truck and said, “I have something for you.” “Oh?” She watched him rummage through the supplies in the extra large cab. She had expected a gun or knife to add to her already heavy pack. When he returned he dropped a dark blue velvet pouch into her hand. “What is this? You don’t need to give me anything.” “Open it. It’s not really a gift. It’s yours.” Most gifts were given with joy but it was not joy she saw in Ian’s face. His eyes were downcast and his skin red. He looked ashamed. She loosened a delicate gold cord that secured the pouch and plucked gently on the top of the bag.