Morgan, Witch of the Weirding Woods [END].

"It's just an owl," the young fellow from House Beavertail says.

"I don't want it watching us if we're going to do it," his companion says.

"Oh, very well," he says. He takes her by the hand and leads her around the tree to another suitably soft area of grass. "This is just as good."

"What is it about here again?" she asks him.

"I don't know, it's just the place where we all come to do it, you know. It's safe, it's comfortable, it's not too close or too far. Here, let me spread the blanket out."

Their conversation quickly fades off into coos, giggles, and kisses, and before long, into rhythmic grunts and sighs accompanied by familiar squishings and slappings.

Putting off the owl form, you silently stroll the edge of the glade, casting a circle around the oblivious young lovers. With the circle cast, you raise a faint silvery net of magic that takes a bit of their libido and feeds it back to them, raising their ardor, then taking a bit more. Each climax gives you a pleasant jolt of power, and since they're both Beavertails, they're at it for another go, and another, until they finally exhaust each other. Pulling in your net, you smile, satisfied by your haul. The lovers, just as satisfied, lie dreamily on the blanket. You quietly unwind the circle, leaving only a little ward and blessing to hold them as they rest.

Tomorrow you'll meet Miss Wormwood at your regular rendezvous, bringing her a basket of forest herbs and little tokens from the magical beasts of the forest, in addition to mushrooms and fruits from your garden fed on the energies and juices of young love. She'll bring you food, medicines, and coin to spend in Turnbuckle, under disguise.

For years now, you've been Morgan, Witch of the Weirding Woods, and Boarbristle whispers stories about you. Some fearful. Some admiring. But you're content. Fay will be visiting soon, back from some trip abroad with Golondrina. Your little hut will be bright and warm for a time, and then it will be quiet again.