Whitefish River drachenfeuer

It was difficult to pry his spirits up from the bottom of his well; Dragomir wasn't even sure how to begin to pretend to be interested in anything ever again. Everything felt so hopeless and dire, and when he wasn't feeling detached like this, then he was panic-stricken and jumped at shadows. The moments where Dragomir felt safe and well were few and far between. When Isilmë visited or when Speedy came with her magical seeds to send him into a dreamless sleep. Those were perhaps the only times he felt semi-normal.

The invitation to visit Diaspora, therefore, didn't excite him like it might have before. A small part of him, the boy from before the incident, perked up inside his heart at the notion of going to see all the wolves he had come to know in his childhood, but that boy was smothered under the crushing weight of too many negative emotions. A tiny quirk of the lips into something resembling a smile, the slightest brightening of his eyes. That was the only indication. That would be nice, Dragomir said in a voice that regrettably didn't sound all too pleased about it, even if somewhere deep inside, he really was.

When would that be, though? Would he ever be strong enough to make that journey?