"Why is a drow incapable of understanding? Is it who she is? Her beliefs have made her this way? Is it because of her race? Her people?" The half-breed shook his head slowly. "You are right. It is an excuse. In truth, it is a lie. Lies are hard to let go of, when you've lived and breathed them for years. When you've been forced to believe them. It's a simple lie, but it gives me strength. The will to go on, without going mad. If I ever go back to that life, and the chance is there, thoughts of hope and life would distract me from what I needed to do. Kill, and live, and breath, and move on to the next day. Where I may kill enough, and see an opening to freedom again." He didn't bother to look down at the spit upon his boot, nor did he begrudge the mapmaker for his beliefs, or his actions.
"Perhaps it is the human in me that is flawed. Perhaps it is the dwarf in me too stubborn. Maybe they fight with each other. If I make worthless choices, it is because I have the freedom to. In that other life, there is only one choice. The right choice leaves you breathing, and waiting for that chance. You would kill your own mother and father for that chance. You would kill children too, if it meant living another day. Here, I have the freedom to not have to be a great man. Perhaps, I could be." He removed his eyes from the man's back and began to walk past him. "I'm not sure. My flaws are what help me blend in here. My mistakes are what make me feel whole. I don't have to die for a wrong decision, even if it hurts me and other people. No path is easy. No path makes sense." He'd continue to walk, his hobnailed boots trudging noisily along the road toward Darkenhold. If Glenn let him leave, then he would simply leave without another word.