There's almost no resistance as he's pulled into Herbert's lap, his body cold and like a ragdoll - and there's only a moment of anxiety before another roar in his gut drives him to lap up the blood offered, whining high-pitched in the back of his throat as he drinks.

Not only had Sarah left him there, the only blood he had actually tasted was his own.

Dimly, he realizes this is the first feeding of any kind that he's had...and it's being given willingly, kindly, giving him strength.

He calms, just a little bit.

There's...sympathy there, in Herbert's voice, isn't there?