Whitefish River always protect ya neck

Dragomir wished he cared more about the goings on of Kaistleoki, or what was happening with his family. Though he visibly brightened up whenever Isilmë visited him, the same couldn't be said when his parents did. Sometimes he was brightened by them, sometimes not. It wasn't that he was angry with them; he'd just become so used to being unable to rely on them that he refused to stake anything on them. They still left often, leaving him on his own for large chunks of the day, and now they didn't seem to speak to one another at all. The days bled together for Dragomir, so he was slow to notice that. When he did, it was with a defeated sort of apathy that he placed the final brick into a wall around his heart, blaming himself for not being good enough for them.

Vercingetorix's arrival pleased Dragomir, if only because sometimes he was hopeful that things would change, that maybe one day he would be good enough. He was certainly interested in the long browned bone his father brought with him, and did his best to arrange his features into something conveying that. It fell short, of course. He smiled rarely these days, partially due to his trauma and partially due to this apathy he had found, but his eyes did light up at the sight of it, so perhaps Vercingetorix would take that as a victory.

Yet when the man asked where Dragomir thought it came from, the boy could only shrug (the scars on his nape no longer pained him) and flatly say, I dunno. A moose?