Whitefish River but the hearts of small children are delicate organs

He was resting when Aurëwen arrived. With a few opium poppy seeds from Speedy, he was able to slip into dreamless sleep now and again. They couldn't be too heavy-handed with the doses, though he already felt like he needed them to be able to get any rest at all. Without them, his mind conjured nightmares and flashbacks that woke him screaming in the middle of the night. He had been allowed a few now and was dozing when his mother entered the thicket that he was confined to while he healed.

He didn't hear her approach, but his nose twitched in response to a familiar smell and his eyes fluttered open when she spoke. Aurë might recognize some marked improvement in her son, both physically and mentally. The lacerations on his neck and hindquarters were reduced to scabs that would later turn into scars. They itched more than they hurt these days. The swelling around his eye was steadily going down, though there would always be something a little lopsided about his face. His other broken bones remained painful, perhaps less so than when they were fresh, and stiff beyond comfort. The wasting of his muscles was evident by now, but there was a brightness in his eyes that had often been absent of late, suggesting that for once he was neither dissociated nor panic-stricken.

Aurëwen looked as though she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Dragomir noticed, but didn't know what to do or say about it. He knew he had been harsh to her before Sanguinus tricked him and he had never apologized for it; it felt too late to do so now. He instead said, hi, mom, and let his eyes flick curiously to the items she'd placed on the ground. How are you? It felt weird coming out of his mouth, but he said it anyway.