Whitefish River drachenfeuer

Nope, sorry 'bout that Eb! I had forgotten about this one when I caught up on replies last, that's my bad.

It was one of those days where Dragomir felt like he was floating somewhere beyond himself. He liked those days better than the ones where he woke screaming and jumped at shadows in the trees, if only because he felt removed from the physical and mental agony of his condition, but they came with their own challenges. Sometimes he didn't even recognize the wolves he was looking at. Sometimes he didn't really know where he was. Sometimes he couldn't remember what he'd just been doing, not that there was much he could do.

Dragomir didn't recognize Mahler at first; he lifted his head with a wince from his paws, setting his jaw in an effort not to jostle his injured cheek bone, and stared deadpan at the Kapitän with nary a flicker of recognition in his gaze. His heart stuttered for a moment at the sight of a dark-furred stranger, but this man couldn't be mistaken for Sanguinus or his flawless shadow; there was too much grey in his coat. Only when Aurë mumbled in his ear and then the grizzled grey wolf confirmed did Dragomir's hazel gaze light up a little, just a little, with relief and familiarity.

Mahler? he repeated, in a voice very unlike what Mahler would have recognized from before, broken and timid and mistrustful. But there was also heartfelt remorse in his voice as he said, with his ears flitting back and his eyes falling to the other wolf's paws, I'm really sorry, Mahler. I didn't wanna leave Diaspora. Now the man had come all this way to see him even though he had been taken from the pack without so much as a parting thank you. At the time the significance of that had been lost on him, but now he realized how very wrong it was... and how undeserving he must be of Mahler's presence here, when the man's careful care had been slighted by his family.