He hated it. Yet he loved it. Wanted it. Needed it. The thirst. It drove him mad to resist. He so wished he could resist it. And yet it was impossible when he cut himself. All for him. And he would descend on that arm, and drink. They both knew he would give in, given the time. All for him. Why? That's what he wanted to know. Why did he care so much? Why didn't he just let him die? He knew, and he hated it.