"I haven't the faintest idea what you're whinging about."

"Your mysteriousness just got a lot less attractive and a lot more urgently solvable," she informs him. 

"You must have some kind of skin condition. I needn't go on nibbling as it's turned out you don't like it."

"I'm not actually stupid." 

"I never said you were, but you're certainly far out of line, whatever you're doing to me here. Let me go."

"Why are you so cold? You shouldn't still be this cold. I didn't think much of it before..." 

"It's a chilly day. Some people are warmer than others."

She puts a hand on her neck and pokes at the cut. "You should not have been able to bite me that hard by accident. I know my own skin; I go herb-gathering in these woods all the time. I've gotten more scratches from the scratchy poky things that grow here than most people dream of. You are an enigma."

He's breathing a bit rapidly.

"Why don't you want to tell me?" 

"Let me go," he growls.

"No." 

SNARL.

"Give me a good reason," she suggests. 

HISS.

She considers him, then makes him open his mouth, sticks the end of a fallen branch in it, and makes him bite down. 

The branch doesn't even snap. It's bitten through like butter.

"...My." She gives him back control of his mouth and examines the bitten end of the stick.

GROWL.

The stick is... dissolving slightly.

Her hand goes to her neck again. 

The pain is fading, a little, and it doesn't seem like her flesh is melting. 

"What were you trying to do to me," she breathes shakily. She sets the stick down carefully. 

RrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRAARR, says Michael.

She suddenly feels less secure just from her hand keeping him under her power. 

She does not know what he is exactly and she does not like not knowing but he bit her with those teeth that are doing that to that stick. And that snarling does not look like she would be safe if he had freedom of movement. 

"Witch," he spits, and then it's back to snarling.

"--Like you're one to talk!" 

RAWR.