Inside, Dorael sat on the bed and removed the armor from his shoulder and placed it on a table next to him.  He then unfastened the cloak covering his arm and held it for a moment, running his talons over the silver emblem on the black fabric.  With care, Dorael folded it and placed it on the table, then removed his boots and gauntlets, before finally lying down.
          Jarem entered, quickly closing the door behind him.  He walked over to the bed and sat down to take his boots off as well.
          “Do you need to feed, Dorael?”
          “No, not now, I shall be fine until nightfall.”
          Jarem nodded and lay down on his side, facing the vampire.
          “When you sleep, do you dream?”
          Dorael turned his head, his golden eyes piercing Jarem’s soul.
          “Yes, I do, but not good dreams.”
          Jarem nodded and rolled over, drifting into unconsciousness.
          Soon after, Dorael fell asleep as well.

          Nightfall once again graced Nosgoth with its twilight beauty.
          Dorael wandered the hinterlands, his hunger growing.  He would need to feed soon.
          The vampire paused as he heard the sounds of clattering armor, a hunter was approaching.  The armored man walked past where Dorael hid, carrying a crossbow.  Without a missed beat, Dorael leaped forward and dug his talons between the armor plates on the hunter’s back.  As the man screamed, Dorael sunk his fangs into the hunter’s neck.  Blood poured from the wound, filling the vampire’s mouth and dripping to the ground.  Dorael let the lifeless body fall and started towards the cabin. 
          The vampire paused and ducked in time to see a sword swing over his head.  Scrambling to a safer position, Dorael turned to see a Dumahim fledgeling.
          “So you still wear the crest of your fallen clan,” the fledgeling said, “Kain will reward me when I deliver your head to him.”
          The young vampire swung at Dorael, but his blade cleaved only the air.  Dorael spun and ran to where the hunter had died and took the dead man’s sword.
          The fledgeling swung again and Dorael parried the blow, slashing at his enemy’s stomach.  Without relent, Dorael sliced at his opponent, distracting the young one from what was to be the final blow.  Dorael made a change of balance and thrust his sword through his attacker’s chest.  The Dumahim fledgeling howled in pain and collapsed to the ground, his body beginning to decay.  Dorael took his vanquished enemy’s sword and continued on his way back to the cabin. 

          Dorael stepped inside as Jarem sat down to eat a bowl of vegetable stew, but paused when he saw the blood across Dorael’s chest.
          Dorael grabbed a cloth and began to wipe the blood off, smiling lightly at his timing.  Jarem went back to eating, struggling slightly to rid his mind of the image he had just witnessed.
          The vampire set the sword down and removed his armor, his skin glowing orange in the light from the small fire.
          “I was attacked again, another of Dumah’s fledgelings.”
          Jarem walked over to Dorael and sat on the bed.
          “They are getting closer each night, soon they will be at our doorstep.”
          Dorael sat down, his arm drape now folded in front of him.
          “Kain will not stop at his attempt to destroy me, last of my clan.”
          The vampire shifted to remove his boots.
          “There is a human city, hidden from Kain,”
          Jarem put his hand on Dorael’s shoulder, “we could go to Acher.”
          Dorael looked over at Jarem, their gazes meeting.
          “Let us travel then, tomorrow we shall leave in search of this hidden city.”
          Jarem stood and fetched an old book, then reclaimed his seat and began to thumb through it’s pages.
          “It is said that the city of Acher is within the mountain ranges, to the south of Nosgoth.”
          Jarem turned to show Dorael a hand-drawn map of Nosgoth with scribbled notes written along its border.  The vampire studied the map, the city was outside vampyric Nosgoth and toward the desert in the far south.
          “Tomorrow at sunset, we must be ready to depart.”

          Dorael slept, while Jarem gathered supplies for the journey.  To the north, Jarem could see the clouds of an approaching storm, they would have to be swift to make it to the mountains.
          The sun began to set as Jarem prepared the horses, placing food, water and blankets in the saddle-bags.
          Dorael awoke from his dreams and was greeted by Jarem’s face.
          “It is time for us to go.”
          The vampire suited up and both men went to the stable and mounted their horses.
          Winds began to pick up as the storm approached.  Dorael looked over his shoulder and saw the swirling clouds in the distance.
          “We will make it,” Jarem said, “with haste.”
          Dorael smiled as they rode, never looking back again. 

          The sky began to lighten as dawn neared, the mountains now close.  Thunder startled Dorael as the storm began to move overhead.  Dorael’s skin began to itch with the impending sunlight, though he wore a black hooded cloak.
Rain began to fall lightly, the drops stinging Dorael’s arms.
          Jarem called out, pointing at a cave up ahead for shelter.  Dorael veered his horse toward the opening and made it inside just as the rain started to fall.

          The cave was shallow, the light of day illuminating it, but it still offered protection from the rain.  Dorael climbed down from his horse and collapsed, his strength depleted.  Jarem knelt beside him, unrolling blankets.
          “You need to feed to heal yourself,”
          Dorael nodded and crawled onto the blankets.
          “There is no source of blood for me.”
          Jarem rolled up his sleeve and drew his knife, slashing his arm.
          “Feed Dorael, sustain yourself.”
          Dorael drank from the boy, knowing all too well what it would mean.  He could feel his strength grow, replenished by Jarem’s sacrifice.
          The vampire released his grip and Jarem fell, in a state that every vampire remembers experiencing.
          Using Jarem’s knife, Dorael cut into his palm and rested his hand on the boy’s lips.
          “Feed Jarem, be one with me.”