Does your mumma know that you're out?

Wilder stands there in the muck in all of his coy glory. That is until the woman's words have him taking a step back. One paw nearly trips over a gnarled root that seemingly rises from nowhere. Both ears flick backward as he notices the returned mischievous expression on her face. "A w-witch?" He whispers loud enough for her to hear through the dense fog. A witch was more definitely not on his radar and something he did not want to come face to face with. Letting out a rough sort of noise, something between indignation and hiding his growing fear, Wilder gives his head a shake.

"You gotta be messing with me. Witches don't exist," Wilder tries to be adamant. He even gives his head a little shake, trying to rid himself of the nibbling fear at the back of his head. There was no way witches existed... He lived in bogs like these since he was born and had never crossed paths with such a creature. If anyone was accustomed to swamp life, it was him.

Taking that moment to glance around, he tells himself that there definitely isn't spooky noises happening either. That the loud creaking noise he hears is just the wind bending weak branches. Or the gurgling noise is gas making its way from the acidic bottom of lakes to emerge through thick mud into the air. He definitely didn't hear a distant cackle - that surely had been a raven, right? "I was just trying to find my way out, that's all," he mentions, eyes training back to the colorful woman. Was she the witch?

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