For a moment he's quiet, and then lets out a shaky, slow breath. It brings that cold reality back too quickly, too viscerally. Every moment on that island had been one tragedy after another, set to the slow, gentle beauty of falling snow. How long had it taken for it to erase all signs of the battles that had gone on there? How quickly had it erased Law's fleeing footprints?

"I... thank you," he manages, and says no more. He doesn't want the other man to hear how close he is to tears, both from reflecting on what happened and from the gracious, thoughtful gift in writing.