Whitefish River drachenfeuer

the dove slipped away, and mahler looked back to dragomir. despite the boy's closed attitude, the gargoyle would continue his attempts. it was to be expected — the child had undergone a major trauma, and mahler did not know that kaistleoki was truly home to the small dragon.
what the shadowpriest did not expect was the boy's small, trembling voice cracking open the tome of himself to those locked chapters. the man's expression darkened as dragomir incriminated aurëwen in the events that had sundered his small body. a friend, a friend who was nothing but a stranger, and the one to bring hurt to her son. 
a cliff — the boy was truly blessed to be alive.
a muscle jumped in mahler's cheek; he leant close. "does your father know?" came the dire rumble of his voice. aurëwen was among those who should not have been mothers, and in this moment his ire was terrible, hidden behind the clouding lilac of his stare.
dragomir and isilmë should be home with him in diaspora, that was certain, and mahler was unsure that he could be civil to their mother now.