Whitefish River drachenfeuer

It is not your fault, Dragomir. Then why did it feel so much like it was? If he was only a better son, couldn't he still his mother's wandering paws? Couldn't he have been enough for his father even without the sea? Mahler was doing his best, but the roots of Dragomir's affliction reached too deeply into his soul to be extricated with anything less than months of reassurance. Even if both his parents remained from this point onward and never left him again, it would take many moons to erase his mistrust.

On that note, the boy lifted his snout from his paws and asked in a small voice, how can I forgive them? Vercingetorix had done nothing worthwhile for them in all their lives—he left them, claiming to want a better home for them, which he had failed to find. He had merely taken them to the sea only to march them away again, claiming it was dangerous. Hadn't he known that when he went there? And Aurëwen had gotten them removed from the only home they should have had to know over her own desires ... perhaps one day he would understand the values that drove his parents to these irresponsible decisions, but presently, all he could feel deep down was resentment for how those decisions had upended his entire life.

Brushing death's door with his fingertips had put some things into perspective for Dragomir, like letting go of his temper, but not everything.