Geraint went from room to room, looking out windows.  Generations of neglect had brought the forest very close to the houses, sometimes right up to the walls, and the weeds were all chest high or higher.  The good news was that there were ways out and it was like a maze out there.  He could glance away and it seemed like everything had changed.  Magic.  But when he focused, things seemed to resolve - but it took effort and he got the feeling that something out there didn't like it when he bent his will to the wood.  So he stopped doing it.  The feeling against his neck calmed but not disappear.  He had the sense that there was a sword over their heads held by a fraying string.<br/><br/>In the back room, he said, "I always knew I was different.  No one knows who my father was.  Is.  And my mother died shortly after I was born."  Maybe murdered by the witches.  That might have been the cruelty of youth, though.  "The witches said it was radiation poisoning, which is what marked me.  But I don't look like any mutant I've ever seen, and there's something spiritual to this mark, so I have no idea what they were talking about.  Witches love their secrets.  But I was always different.  It shows in my transformation, always did.  My warrior form is... not like other werewolves.  It's less... substantial.  And sometimes it controls me instead of me controlling it.  Like it's both part of me and something outside of me."  He shrugged, shook his head.  "The witches didn't talk much about that, either.  They're not big on answering questions in ways people understand them.  Fucking wisdom mystique.<br/><br/>"Why didn't you go and fuck Blackvayne?  It might have been good for your career and I've heard that vampires are... skilled lovers.  Unless you're the main course, but even then you're likely to go out with a smile."