Whitefish River but the hearts of small children are delicate organs

If Dragomir were a well read scholar, he might recognize the mention of silmaril. But Dragomir was just a young wolf and it was the first he'd ever heard the term, and the first he'd ever seen the stone. It was pretty, lovely like the stone itself, and it was woefully the kind of word that escaped your mind not long after hearing it due to its unfamiliarity, much as he might try to recall it later. Moonstone would be easier to remember for he whose mind was preoccupied most hours of the day with staving off reminders of his trauma and the crushing hopelessness that came to him along with each flashback.

But for right now he quietly repeated it in his mind and listened to what Aurë had to say about the moonstone. He gazed down at it in the crook of his ankle, pursing his lips. His interest, as it had been lately, was subdued and dimmed by the darkness that pressed in all around him, but it was nevertheless evident in the glint of his eye. It does look like the moon, he mused. Can pieces of the moon fall? Stars fell sometimes. Maybe it was possible for the moon to break and fall as well.

Another time he may have asked these questions with wide-eyed wonder; now he asked them in the same tone he might use to ask about the weather in any other situation. Merely the result of his ongoing issues, and he hoped she wouldn't notice, even though she likely already had. In spite of his flat tone, the boy then asked, can it heal?