Meat. Broth. Warm.
It is life. It is earth. It floods my system, a hot tide that pushes back the cold and the weakness. It is the first good thing I have ever known. I drink it greedily, my throat working, my body shuddering. I lick the bowl clean.
"Easy. Easy. There's more."
Her voice. The cool water.
The burning behind my eyes... it soothes. The red haze is just a pink fog, far away, watching, hating.
She is different.
The elves... their voices were blades. Their voices commanded. Their voices hurt. They burned me.
Her voice... heals. The hunger is a dull ache now, not a scream.
I look at her. She is small. So small. A leaf. I am a mountain. I could crush her without thought.
But she is strong. Her eyes are stubborn. She fed me. She faces me.
A new feeling. Not rage. Not pain. Not hunger.
It is... full. An instinct. An urge. A need to… do something.
I lean forward.
She flinches. A sharp gasp. Her fear-scent spikes, filling the hovel. No. Do not run. Do not fear.
I move slow. So slow it hurts. I am a monster. I know. My face is wrong. My body is wrong. I am death. But... I must.
I nudge my massive, tusked head against her hip. A small push. A light tap. My rough hide scrapes her worn clothes.
Thank you. The thought is clear, even if the sound is just a grunt.
She freezes. Her whole body is stone. I can smell the fear-wall. She is terrified.
But... something else.
Her hand. It rises. It shakes. A small, pale leaf in the air.
It lands on my head. On the thick, matted hair behind my ear.
Touch.
Not pain. Not a blade.
Warmth.
A deep, rumbling purr starts in my chest. It is a sound I have never made. A sound that is not Urog. It vibrates through my bones, through her hand.
The red haze... is gone.
The pain in my chest... is dull.
I am tired. Not weak.
I slide from the furs. The floor is cold, but the fire is near.
I lay my head near her feet.
