Auryn internally winces. Well, there goes that hope. Still, he maintains he did nothing wrong, at least privately, and he holds his head up about it. "Yes," he says. "Apparently the beat cops around here aren't particularly keen on someone moving a fallen tree without their permission." He still remembers, bitterly, the guns pulled on him, as though he were about to throw a tree at them or do some other malicious spell. The way they'd spoken about witches. There's not much that brings out the truth of people like fear. "It's sad," he says, with a raised eyebrow. "A place so teeming with magic, tries to confine it indoors and behind walls instead of learning about it."

He's relieved, then, that his first impression and ensuing unhappiness about it doesn't chase the young man away. He lifts his head and smiles. "I'd like that," he answers. The healer of his childhood home had been his mother, and her magic had been religious ritual and folk knowledge rather than true power, but any memory of herbalism he has, is from her. The idea of knowing some real charms is appealing on a number of levels.

"Very much so." Auryn's smile widens into a small, self-aware grin. "Always, if I can help it." He nods at the woods. "I could show you sometime."

"It does. I'd never found myself reading about sirens so much in my life."