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

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To be controlled was not a new concept to the young male. The Cihuāpilli had controlled him even prior to his birth, her voice having been used to create laws that even those growing within a womb could not be shielded from. Always had he obeyed, the eager little Tētlauhtilli that he was, and that would never change. If anything, his need to serve would only increase tenfold since acquiring a master, the need to please and gain the man’s favour being at the front of his mind. To do so would lead to a bettering of his treatment, as well as a way to stay safe and fed. With Athan, he was guaranteed certain aspects of life, each of which ones that he could neither pass up nor outright refuse. It would be similar to his previous life, he was sure, with the only notable difference being the amount of men that he’d extend his services to. From countless down to one, the number had dwindled so drastically that one might expect him to someday forget his roots, though the truth of the matter was that he never would.

The moment of silence was broken by the voice of the beast, whose words were mostly understood, with the exception of one. Slowly, Mazatl’s mouth opened as if he might speak, but was promptly closed prior to the escape of any words. Whilst he was unable to decipher what it was that he was supposed to call the man, he nodded, agreeing to do so. If it would satisfy his tăti, then so be it.

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