Moonspear seal team sixty-nine sexecuting the hit

If not for Isilmë's approach, Dragomir would be content to sink into a catatonic stupor there on the ground. His emotions quickly became too overwhelming for him to handle and the walls went up, shutting out the bad and leaving him with the strange sensation of being suspended in a dream. A nightmare, more like. This still happened to him sometimes when he dreamed of Merrick's eyes or Astara's teeth or caves in general ... but these instances were less and less.

Dragomir had a feeling these episodes would be a lot more frequent in the days to come.

Isilmë came to his rescue with a gentle touch and soft words. Dragomir turned his blunt muzzle toward her, eyes swimming with pain in spite of the faraway look that glazed them. Someone who didn't know him well would surely overlook it, but Isilmë would know. She always knew. She must be feeling the exact same way. How, he wondered, did she stay so calm in the face of it? More than the pain was the feeling of misplaced guilt and insecurity that crashed over him, because Aurëwen's leaving was his fault, was it not? All of it was his fault. He could never pretend to be as calm as her ... obviously, since he'd just made a fool of himself in front of strangers.

He could vaguely hear the conversation occurring between Vercingetorix and Hydra, but despite his mind screaming at him to pipe up that he was a hunter and could help, too, he couldn't muster the energy to even look at them. It wasn't her fault their mother had left them with no intent to return, but looking at Hydra right now brought the pain into sharp relief, if only because she was the messenger.