Witch's Marsh Oh [m]y God, she looks so helpless, and her body's saying: "Hell yes."

Confusion was all he could feel. It’d increased when she’d chuckled, as had it when she’d spoken to him. At first, he couldn’t piece together what it was that she had told him. Homegrown? What was that supposed to mean? His mouth opened to ask her, but he’d regretted it almost instantly. By then, the distance between them had already been closed, and her scent was all but choked on. Blood rushed to his lower region and he’d found himself unable to move away, the aroma having ensnared him. Her reason for being there was realized, and he’d reached out to nose through her fur, but stopped himself before he’d the chance to touch her.

“I… I understand,” he’d said, the words having been reluctant to leave his mouth. It was not the time to speak, it was the time to allow for his body to do as nature intended. Again though, Xan did his best to refrain from doing so. And whilst he’d yet to act on his instincts, he had leaned towards her, unconsciously wanting to touch her. “Damien would kill me if I did anything to you,” the boy muttered, his control slipping with each second. It was the power of the hex, as he’d forever refer to it as being. “Even if it’s for the Brotherhood, he… I wouldn’t be wanted.” The words were spoken, but they’d started to mean hardly anything to him. Damien did not matter at the moment, not entirely. All that mattered was what he could do to make Potema happy with him.