Whitefish River but the hearts of small children are delicate organs

It was with an inscrutable, somewhat-gentled guise and a herbarious bundle clutched between fangs that airgetlám went to @Dragomir. All of her words had left her in the several days flitting to and from the riverlands; her ranging on the Road had her voice hoarse, throat useless.

Hidden within the green confines was the lunar-gem she’d smuggled back into the claim; the other of which had yet to be proffered to her daughter. But the silver handled her gatherings with care, even more so as to not reveal the glinting trifle. Not yet.

Eventually, when she came nearer to her son, Aurë did set her gatherings down and look into his face; letting a soft murmur issued from between scarred lips, whether he rested or no. “...Hello, balaur.”
And it was muscle memory that had the silver’s gaze ticking across him; inspecting all that’d healed, and all that’d yet to be realigned.