Done with emptying his stomach, which still coiled from that disgusting act, Travis stood up, refusing to look at the beastmen the same way again. The cubs were still munching on the bugs, and another wave of nausea hit him so hard he nearly gagged again.
Okay, what was taking that boiled meat so long? He would be so glad to eat it right now—anything to get the sight of those crawling things out of his head.
Walking back to the sticks of bamboo where he had sat earlier, he let out a tired breath and dropped down again—only for his ass to get punctured by the uneven wood. He winced but managed to bear it.
"What happened to you? The kids finished the snacks and I couldn't stop them…" Derek said.
Hearing Derek call that a snack did something to him.
"Hmm, thanks, but I'd rather wait for the meat," Travis muttered, forcing a small smile.
And as if the heavens heard his plea, the meat was brought to them—laid on a wide green leaf.
Travis blinked. A full portion sat at his feet, but something was off. He leaned closer—no scent. Nothing. Cooked meat was supposed to smell rich and smoky, but this one was dead silent, scentless.
Before he could think further, the two cubs rushed to his food, fighting over who would get the first bite. Travis frowned. There was no sign of manners in them—dragging at someone's food like this?
"Maybe I should let them take it," he sighed, watching as they hovered impatiently. He cut a small piece and lifted it toward his mouth—but something made him pause.
Wait. Didn't they already have their snacks? And if he remembered right, it was the same person who served both them and him.
"Derek, why aren't they eating their food? Tell them to eat theirs and stop staring at me while I eat—it's creepy," he whispered.
Others were watching, too. He could feel their eyes, like curious animals observing something unfamiliar.
"Oh, that? They just want to taste yours," Derek said casually.
The cubs stretched their hands toward the meat, about to dig in when Travis immediately jumped back.
"Stop that! Please—have you guys washed your hands?" he blurted.
Derek gave him a puzzled look. Around them, others with dirty, mud-stained hands dug into their portions. To Travis's horror, blood splattered around their mouths as claws tore into the meat.
That's when it hit him—they were eating raw meat.
He shuddered, fighting down another wave of nausea. Okay, just ignore them. Just don't look.
But when he looked down at his own meal again, the truth dawned on him. No wonder it had no scent—they hadn't cooked it at all.
"What is… washing of hands?" Derek asked, blinking innocently.
Travis stared. They didn't even know what washing hands meant.
Okay, no. This wasn't happening. No one was eating raw meat beside him, and definitely not with those filthy claws.
"Alright, line up, everyone—it's time to cook a sizzling meal," Travis announced.
The entire place paused. Families looked up, mouths frozen mid-bite. Only Derek and the twins hadn't started eating, and that was because Travis refused to let them.
"Let them eat, Travis—they're hungry," Derek scolded gently.
Travis shook his head. "They'll eat after washing their hands."
He asked for water—and got it. Soap obviously wasn't a thing here; these were beastmen, practically wild. So, he managed with plain water.
To his surprise, the little cubs lined up beside him in a neat row.
Derek watched, curiosity piqued, as the cubs scampered over. Soon, others' children joined in, abandoning their parents to stand where little Henry and Tilda were told to line up.
Seeing six cubs standing there made Travis feel strangely proud. If this was the only thing they learned from him, he was fine with that.
Scooping water into a leaf, he crouched and showed Henry, "Move both your hands like this—inside the water. Rub them together until the dirt is gone."
He led by example. The cubs followed eagerly, scooping water from a calabash and washing their hands just like him.
Murmurs rippled around.
"What is he teaching our cubs?" one woman asked curiously.
"I think it's about keeping the hands clean," someone replied.
Soon, everyone was looking at their own hands. Even Derek glanced down and noticed the dark mud smeared all over his palms. He'd eaten countless times like this—suddenly, he felt embarrassed.
Minutes later, the cubs came running out, giggling.
"Mama, mama, I washed my hands!" they cooed proudly.
Tilda clung to Travis's back while Henry held onto his arm as he packed the meat from both his and Derek's sides into a calabash. He was going to recook everything properly—boil it, season it, make it edible.
Clan members around had stopped eating, some mid-bite, red stains on their lips. One let out a thunderous belch that made Travis jump so hard he nearly dropped the calabash.
The hell? Was that human? he thought, horrified.
Derek stood watching. Lunch was over; people were dispersing, preparing for the council meeting—but many still stayed, curious about what Travis would do next. Derek stayed too, despite being the king.
Just as Travis instructed, they brought him to the place where they normally made fire for cooking. It was a large stone barricade with a thick wooden beam stretched across it, where meat was usually hung.
But if they had this setup, then why didn't they ever boil it?
"What are you doing with the meat? If it loses that fresh blood, it won't be delicious," Derek exclaimed.
Travis gave him a look. "I don't eat raw meat. It's… disturbing—and irritating to watch," he said bluntly.
Derek stayed still as Travis picked up two stones and began striking them together.
"You'll hurt yourself," Derek whispered, stepping closer, his body brushing against Travis's. The contact sent an odd tingling through Travis's skin.
He turned to glare at Derek, and that stopped him. Moments later, sparks flickered between the stones, and fire bloomed. Travis quickly shielded it with dry wood, feeding it carefully.
He'd learned all this in the slums—where cooking gas was a luxury they couldn't afford. Survival meant knowing old ways.
Soon, the pot was set on the fire, and Travis began to cook. The scent of sizzling meat drifted through the air, rich and intoxicating. He even found some herbs—pepper, garlic—planted nearby. Apparently, the beastmen used them as medicine, but he used them anyway.
Derek stood rooted, watching both the flame and the boy. The aroma mixed with Travis's natural scent, clouding his mind.
Henry and Tilda started to jump excitedly.
"Meat! I want meat!" they chanted.
Travis smiled at their cuteness and leaned over to serve them—but before he could, Derek grabbed him by the waist, pulling him back roughly. His lips crashed against Travis's.
"I want to eat you and that meat so bad…" Derek's husky voice dripped with heat.
Travis froze, wide-eyed, lips still caught in the kiss. What's wrong with him?
Before he could even ask, Derek deepened it, sucking on his lower lip like he was claiming him.
"What's Dad doing?" Henry asked innocently.
Tilda shrugged. "He told me anytime he does that, he's feeding him through his mouth," she replied, eyes still fixed on the boiling pot of meat.