Whitefish River drachenfeuer

dragomir was closed as he might be; a slammed-shut tome who could neither be brightened nor prised to light. mahler let none of this show upon his face; he was sorely disappointed in aurëwen, both in her refusal to leave them be, and her neglect which had led to this in dragomir. the boy was clearly traumatized, tongue laid low by what he had underwent, and mahler almost desperately wanted to hear it.
but for now, he only smiled at the injured child, nodded to aurëwen. if by the end of autumn dragomir was fit to travel, mahler would take him to where he felt was home, and with the blessing of his parents, allow the boy to winter there. it would be a welcome respite from this place, from his maladies, and most of all, from the hovering mother. 
knowing he would get little else from the boy, mahler nevertheless focused himself upon dragomir, his gaze warm. "no matter vhere i am, or vhere you are, i am your friend." he had wanted to say that he would be here for the little one, but the grevious injuries sustained suggested that no one had been there. how could he claim that he could?