The man's saliva dripped on the floor, and he could smell the savory stew cooking in the pot. He begged and pleaded for even a taste, or any food at all.

Your heart felt compassion for the poor soul, despite him being an O'Driscoll.

Gathering a bowl of steaming hot stew, you approached the man. Placing a spoonful in his mouth and watching him scarf it down quickly, his eyes met yours once again.

"Thank you," the man began repeating, a look of pure gratitude on his face.