Grouse Thicket maybe i'm not listening

Dash considered the question, brow furrowing as if he was just now realizing that there was a real problem here. "I think... no," he answered honestly, looking back to the stranger with a slightly unfocused,  thousand-yard-stare. 

His eyes lit up as his slugglish brain finally made the connection. "It was the apples!" He nearly shouted, shuffling back over to poke at the pile of fermenting fruit suspiciously. He then tossed a dirty look at the grouse.

"Those aren't real birds, they're witches," he accused. "And after I killed their sister.." His eyes flicked to the dead grouse on the ground, just to make sure he was remembering events correctly. His brain felt so cloudy. "..After I killed their witch-sister, they cast a spell on these apples to make me.. to make me  all.. like..." 

What did Dash feel like? If this was a witch-curse, it wasn't nearly as bad as the stories made it sound. ".. all happy." he finished, clearly confused with the conclusion of his own theory. He grinned apologetically at the stranger, and gave him a shrug.