[ Drummer smiles and shakes the pan, watching her potatoes brown. Grease crackles and pops. Almost done now. ] We call ourselves drow. Beloved of the dark places, in some translations.

[ She removes the pan from the heat and begins filling a bowl, offering it out to Seneca. ]

But that was a very long time ago. I’m a sister of the Laughing Girl now. It is our duty to feed the hungry, among other things.