"How often do you need to feed, Mestas?”
Tavrik didn’t need to be Moroii to tell the girl was uncomfortable; her gaze fell to the floor of his tent and she hugged her elbows close to her chest, shuffling her feet a little. that was something they would need to train out of her. he tolerated quite a lot that other leaders would see as weakness, pathetic and meant to be wiped out, but if she was to stay with any camp in the Clans, she could not be timid. she could not be shy. and she would directly answer questions from her leader, whether they made her uncomfortable or not.
but he waited, tail flicking behind him. among the many qualities he possessed that were considered unusual for a Gruul leader-- even among the Slizt-- was patience. he could, and would wait as long as it took for her to spit it out.
she was new, and he was well aware other leaders considered him far too lenient, especially where new recruits were concerned. his own people were questioning his decision to let a “human” join them in the first place, despite the obvious traits that indicated an inhuman bloodline. there was warrior potential in that young body, if they could train away the city softness. she stank of it, of weakness, of inexperience. it would be weeks, perhaps even months, before the Wilds creeped into her scent.
first, however, she had to give him a simple answer.
finally she sighed, meeting his eye again. voice low, likely trying to avoid others outside the tent from hearing, she murmured, “Every two days.”
with a grimace, she shrugged. “On the third day I get terrible headaches. By the fourth I start weakening, slower reflexes, slower thoughts. My mind and body feel sluggish. But all the mana signatures around me get overwhelmingly strong. Like the Moroii part of me forces all my senses toward feeding so everything’s brighter and more appealing and distracting. Like you, you’re so, so Green. Usually I can just sense it, taste it, but now I’m seeing it. Everyone here is different levels of Red and Green, but you’re the brightest Green I’ve ever seen.”
he frowned, tilting his head. she had seemed distracted when she made her request of him, but he’d written it off as inexperience dealing with Gruul and nervousness at being surrounded by a camp full of Clansmen itching to give her a taste of their knives. with this new knowledge... his scouts had been reporting her around their perimeter and trying to drive her off for two days before he relented to speak with their persistent pest. it had been at least three since she last fed.
perhaps the scent of weakness wasn’t just from her pampered city upbringing.
drawing his knife, he gave her a thoughtful look. “Until you’re capable of hunting for yourself, you may feed on me, but once you can reliably beat at least most Ravnican civilians, you’re expected to keep yourself fed.”
“W-what? No!” her squeak of protest irritated him, but it was another thing to add to the list of behaviors to train her out of, and that particular lesson began now.
“Are you challenging your leader, Mestas?” he didn’t raise his voice, but the way her face paled told him she’d caught his change of tone, the firmer, softer voice with just a hint of violence underneath.
“Are you challenging. Your. Leader?” this time there was a growling edge to the words, his teeth bared just slightly. if she was too much a fool to get it now, he’d toss her on her ass to try her luck with one of the other camps. he tolerated many things from his people, but he didn’t suffer fools.
hesitation. fear. nervousness. her eyes flicked from his to the knife and back again, nails digging into her upper arms. then they hit the ground again, her voice resigned. “I mean you no disrespect, sir, but I have concerns about what my feeding will do to you...”
her gaze lifted but didn’t quite meet his own again. “My... donors... always report feeling weak themselves after a feeding, even a minor one. Woozy, dizzy, out of sorts. Weak in the limbs. Sometimes they have heart palpitations or struggle to breathe. It isn’t just blood I feed on like a common vampire, it’s life. The life essence that flows in you. I can’t do it like a fullblood Moroii, through touch, so I have to have the blood, but it still... weakens you.”
hm. he didn’t regret correcting her disobedience, but it would be folly to ignore her reasoning. still, his decision was final. it would be a temporary arrangement, and while he could simply have ordered his people to take turns as donors, forcing them into that would quickly breed ill content. he had to maintain their full respect as a leader.
shrugging, he dragged the knife along his inner arm below the elbow, watching curiously as her attention immediately focused on the blood beginning to flow from the cut. was it his imagination, or were her eyes glowing more brightly, more intensely now? she licked her lips, a soft whine edging past them. his people were fools to think she was a mere human; there was nothing human about the look on her face. predatory, even without being a hunter.
“The consequences can’t be helped. This is a temporary measure,” he emphasized, holding his arm out to her. a droplet of blood splattered at his feet and he listened to her breathing quicken. “Your first priority is learning to hunt and fight for yourself, and I expect you to do so quickly. Now get this over with, Mestas.”
that order she obeyed without question.
