Iktome Plains And when the crimson moon comes up, he drinks the blood of slaves

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The longer he’d laid across the ground, the less pain he’d felt in his head. The throbbing was still there, but it’d dulled considerably, allowing him a chance to reflect. Several deep breaths were taken and held for lengthy periods of time, a method he’d learned to calm himself down. It had worked, too, for slowing his breathing overall, thus bringing his heart rate down. The clouds began to dissipate after that, granting him the use of his eyes once more. He was grateful to have regained his wits, but felt almost idiotic, for he’d quickly come to understand that it all could have been avoided. Had he simply kept still and allowed for the man to do as he desired, he’d not have toppled over. His head would never have started pounded, nor would his sight have left him. Perhaps he would have needed to take a seat, but, aside from that, nothing drastic would have happened. It was from a moment of confusion that a terrible idea had developed, towards which he felt a great deal of regret. Regret for having caused trouble for the man that he was, for the moment, supposed to be serving and regret for what he’d surely miss out on. Into his mind, there had settled the notion that, for his behavior, he’d be killed; the first sentence to leave the stranger’s mouth had supported this thought, the choice of words having seemed foreboding.

Rising from his place, the beast had approached him. Mazatl, fearful for his life, pinched his optics shut as he’d braced for impact, or for the piercing feeling of the man’s teeth. Yet, it’d not been pain that had greeted him, but a tender touch. Whilst at first he’d flinched, he’d slowly eased up once the discovery was made that he’d not be killed; it was an assumption made based on the man’s soft touch alone, but one that the yearling had decided to go along with anyways. Reopening his eyes, the boy looked into the bloodied face of the male that had hurt him, less frightened now but all the more curious. What had driven him to do as he had, and what now kept him from doing it again? The lack of trust that he felt, as well as his slight interest in the other, were things easily conveyed through the expression worn. It was not there that he’d stopped, though, a low whine having then been pushed from his throat, a complaint and a plea all rolled into one shrill noise.

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