Content is not exactly the word that Zaknafein feels, though it is possibly as close as he's ever come to that emotion in his lifetime. He'd spend so many centuries in a state of resigned resentment that he hadn't thought it possible. Now he has actual hope for freedom of his long imposed despair, but above all else he has his son. His precious, beautiful son with the strange, lavender eyes.

And smart mouth.

He gives Drizzt a mostly gently shove with the hand still on the boy's shoulder and looks into the box. A number of the things contained within are unknown to him, but he understands bandages well enough.

"I have no idea where he are." He finally answers as he begins to unlatch his own armor, begrudgingly allowing Drizzt to help him when he can't turn enough without risking more pain and blood. "But we are no longer in Menzoberranzan, that is all that matters. We can survive anything."

It actually takes a bit of effort to remove the armor without upsetting whatever is stabbing him, and Zak winces a bit when he's finally able to pull his shirt up over his head. The blood itself is difficult to see against his skin, but the shard of some splintery brown substance is clearly visible. It's about the size of a small dagger, four or five inches long though most of it buried inside of him.

The wound hurts a whole hell of a lot more now that he knows it's there, but it's not going to be fatal.