[ The kindness of a perfect stranger continues to astound him. It makes him remember why he loves the world, though some would point out that he has been weighed down by more than his fair share of the suffering. There is innate beauty in the way someone can come across another in their time of need and look upon them with compassion; he has to remind himself that Kenos is a land where many different people have come together at the End of all things. That few will know of Faerûn, and fewer still wear knowledge of dark elves upon their brows.

Drizzt reaches a hand up, to take the opened flask into his fingers and sink over it. A long pull of cool water from the depths, and he holds it in his mouth, lets the chill trickle slowly down his throat to attempt to freeze out the stuttering in his chest. His brows knit together, the pale line of a long, four-pointed Shard just barely visible where the southern point begins to thin across the bridge of his nose. It's hard to emote around it, which isn't a total loss. ]

Thank you.

[ Before all else: gratitude. ]

What does it say, then, that instead of being robbed or murdered, I find myself helped by someone with a kind heart?