it tasted foul on his tongue. Coyote sat down properly and swung his feet a couple of times. “That’s true enough. Or rather it isn’t, and it is. There’s no proper word for exactly what you are anymore. But you were witchborn—” Sherwood felt his lips twist in a soundless snarl and fought to control his expression. Coyote waved a dismissive hand. “Witchcraft can be useful—but I am not here to dictate your morality or lack thereof. I am here to tell you that I will have made use of that cat. That means that making it your familiar will give you—” he paused and peered at Sherwood.
