Leland barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the boy. That last comment was inexperienced and uncouth, and if he ever hoped of getting [i]back[/i] to those woods he'd learn to bite his tongue when speaking to the beasts. Being born as a rogue was a dangerous for a slave--they'd already be distrusted, having been born outside of the conditioning auctioning homes and orphanages put slaves through at a young age. 

It had taken him three years before he'd been given a mark of approval by [i]his[/i] slave trainers; the first was spent screaming and fighting and crying honest tears, the second spent in broken, genuine silence. The third year he perfected the way to serve a vampire, learning what tone of voice was too obviously a cover-up, which ones leaked his bitterness through, whether the creatures had pity for a stumbling, scared and shy slave or respected a protective, loyal and brave one. From his experience, they wanted neither; an emotionless, conditioned etiquette was believable, but still submissive enough to be sold. 

Shaking his head to bring himself back to present, he addressed the well, yet loosely dressed vampire in front of him. "Thank you, whatever you wish, Master." He adjusted his cuffs and moved to kneel beneath the beast.