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

Fade here?

The boy's silence remains, but Athan still pays it no mind. Even if the young man was mute, or simply refusing to speak, it would not change anything about their relationship. He smiled, the word remaining untranslated, leaving the true definition remaining within his brain. The irony of it was delicious. 

His head moved forward, placing a long kiss on the male's forehead. He moves his lips away, then presses his forehead against his own. Come, băiat dulce​, His voice remains low in his throat, rumbling in a half-purr as Athan laps the deer-like boy's face gently before rising. The strigoi's nimble head gestures further inland, to the protective forests ahead. Let us find you a better place to rest,