Whitefish River drachenfeuer

There were a lot of things Dragomir may have told Mahler if he was left in the healer's presence alone, but Aurëwen hovering nearby was enough to cinch his vocal chords against those things. Like how his parents were fighting and maybe they thought he and Isilmë wouldn't notice, but the tension was impossible to ignore; like how all the wolves here were strangers and he didn't know how to feel safe among them even if he was; like how he wished he'd been born in some family with a mother who put her cubs before her own wants and a father who never left them. How he believed if they never left Diaspora, nothing bad would have happened. These were all things that would damn him if he uttered them in earshot of his family, so he didn't dare.

But he wanted to confide in someone these secret wounds in his heart, and it was impossible for him to hide that fully from his eyes as they lingered on the Kapitän. Yeah, he agreed instead in a tight little voice, swallowing thickly.

He readjusted his posture, grimacing at the discomfort that rippled through him, and said, I dunno. Maybe? He didn't know much about fish, but in earlier days he might have been keen to find out if that was possible. He would have discussed it with Mahler, engaged the man in return. Now he seemed disinterested and morose rather than inquisitive as he once had been; a result of the trauma, no doubt.