Bitterroot Valley porphyria

His legs involuntarily trembled as he wobbled after the group on unsteady paws, his lackluster eyes glued to the ground as he slunk after them. He was not loyal or devoted in the same sense as the elder wa ja’ but Xa'ojbal would not so easily leave his masters. He did not belong, not here, not anywhere, but at least with his captors he served a purpose. At least with them he had a reason to live, even if that very reason was for him to one day die. 

And so with nowhere to go and nowhere to belong, Xa'ojbal remained. He followed after them silently, never complaining when they feasted but never asking them to do so. He would not encourage them to bring him closer to death, but the boy had to admit that it brought some relief each time one of them sunk their fangs into his weakened flesh. The pain reminded him that he wasn't dead, at least not yet anyways.

Koh's call snapped the boy back into reality and Xa'ojbal found himself sunk at the inky heels of the night queen herself. He almost instinctively found himself looking to the ground, not daring to stare into those blood filled eyes of hers. Instead he pulled his tail underneath him and nervously licked his lips in anticipation of what was to come.