In his current semi-inebriated state, no insult can possibly offend him. He simply chortles good-naturedly, never the sort to get prickly without good reason. Anybody who shares his ale with a stranger is, in the stag's humble opinion, a good man. Some people aren't so generous with their alchohol, especially when there seems to be a sad lack of dealers here in Helovia. Is a fermented apple merchant too much to ask for?!

The stranger points out that his beverage is no longer around, and Bart raises an eyebrow in interest. Indeed, the flavour had been unique, and the stallion tosses his tongue around him mouth to delicately discern each individual thread of taste. "You're right, I don't believe I've sampled anything like this before. It's very agreeable." He grins, his earthy green gaze alight with good humour and warmth. He fancies himself quite the coinneseur of all things ale-related, and he's already rather partial to whatever lurks in that flask.

His interest is further piqued as Tarik informs him that he was stranded here when his ship capsized. His ship. That definitely implies that he is a seafaring man, just like Bart. Of course, most of his adventures had been conducted firmly on dry land, but he'd served aboard a wooden vessel in the past and knows how difficult it is to live for long periods at sea. Lack of food, shelter and tough conditions mean that only the hardiest of men can survive, and the notion of being shipwrecked is a frightening one. Tarik's mention of his home possibly not existing anymore makes the pirate wonder quite how old he is - he seems to be the same age as Bart himself, but perhaps the alcohol is disguising the man's far greater age.

Tarik then asks why he is helping the sea-man with his tasks, and the stag falls silent for a moment whilst he ponders the answer. Why does he trust Kisamoa? The pirate is not unintelligent, nor is he the sort to offer his loyalty blindly. He's lived his life trusting only those who earn it, as a poor captain can cause disaster within a crew. He knows - he's been that poor captain once, something he never wants to repeat. "The simple answer is that he is from the ocean, so I like him on principle." He offers a tipsy grin. "The more in-depth answer is that I agreed with a lot of what he said. Take this pile of driftwood, for instance." He gestures with his antlered head to the obstacle. "The plants beneath it are crushed, and the sunlight can't reach the grass. That's quite a big patch of land that is essentially useless to us, but which could provide enough food to be the difference between life and death should we ever encounter drought or disease." It seems small, insignificant, but every little helps. He has survived famine, and he knows how important each speck of grass is to a starving horse.

He looks away from the driftwood and over to Tarik. "What's your opinion on him, Tarik?" The stag is interested in what others think, especially a fellow man of the sea.