Arrow Lake and if that mockingbird don't sing and that ring don't shine

Even in the midst of great turmoil, play was an infectious thing for the young. The old, too, if they didn't kid themselves into believing they were too mighty for it. Vercingetorix was shrouded in a fog of melancholy, but Isilmë broke through it when she rose up and grasped their father's cheek in her jaws. Dragomir was more reticent until his sire's tail began to sweep the ground; even then, his advance lacked a lot of its usual vigour.

He didn't understand what was happening here and would later cling to the belief that Vercingetorix would return. There might come a time when he would ask his mother when noni was coming back and be told that she didn't know, and the sting of being left behind might fester in him... but only time could tell these things. Here and now, he let his black tail wag in time with Verx's and threw himself at his father's broad paw with needle-sharp teeth at the ready.

The last play session with his father for a long time.