Whitefish River some unconscious stream of twisted logic

There’s a plea in her ear, a shove in her back, and cries out at her legs — weightless, almost phantom — fail to hold her weight, and she collapses against the rough floor once more. But her daughter is persistent; pushing and pushing for her to stand; and her claws scrabble with a helpless whine. Eventually, though...

It’s only when her ivory hide begins to settle, and only when she sways before Isilmë upon uneasy, listing paws  (but upright, at least)  that she noticed the iron taste of blood as if it were upon her own tongue. Quavering, “Did I... was that me?” Gesturing with a scarred snout to the blood in Isi’s lips, “Did I hurt you? Heavens, Isi, I’m so sor—“

She was apologetic for much of what she felt, these days.
...Had she done this, though?

“Please let me see your fangs, Isilmë.”