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

Atop her frame had he remained, breathing against the back of her neck as he’d buried his nose into the fur there. He’d lingered, and then he’d pulled his face away and slid off of her, having to adjust his position at the same time so as to make himself more comfortable. It was still strange to him, as well as new. Whilst he’d had sex in the past, Potema was his first female—and, on top of that, she was in heat. The possibilities—which weren’t even real possibilities, given his age—of what could result from their fling had yet to dawn on him, leaving him oblivious to what would happen in the weeks to come. All he could focus on was the here and now, and how he was connected to the princess in a way that he never could have imagined happening, had he not been experiencing it right then and there. But, even those thoughts were distant and unfocused, his mind a mess and his voice missing. Silent had he remained, shifting when he needed to but was otherwise lost within his own mind. Was he supposed to say something whilst they waited? Not knowing, he’d glanced towards her, expecting answers as he waited to be freed from her.