Moonspear one

The anguish in his sister's voice was painful to hear. It had been Dragomir's own anguish not so long ago. He, too, struggled with Aurëwen's cold and uncaring decisions, but he'd finally found it in him to let go of her. He'd finally realized the kind of wolf she was, and realized he was a hundred times better than that. The best he could do was ensure that he didn't go down the same path as her in his future. His eyes followed the lower of his sister's head, the agitated lash of her tail, and he whined.

We didn't choose her, Dragomir said, resigned. We didn't have a choice, but that doesn't mean she ever deserved us. It was difficult to put into words the realizations he'd come to during his time in Moonspear. If he could rewrite time and have a choice then he would've chosen any woman other than Aurëwen for a mother, but that simply wasn't how the world worked. She chose to leave us and not love us because she only cares about herself, he said. It's pathetic. She's broken. Her whole life now, pretending we don't exist, is a lie. We're better than that and we're better than her.

He wanted to ask what was said at the borders to fuel his sister's breakdown, but he wasn't willing to drive Isilmë over a brink merely to satiate his own morbid curiosity. So he never asked. He simply sat with her, trying to talk her down, until she felt better.