"Drunk," he affirms, closing his eyes for a moment to attempt to quell the feeling of being slightly off balance. He doesn't drink to excess much, and being drunk isn't necessarily one of his favorite feelings -- again, it's far too close to losing control for his tastes -- but he can't deny that there's something slightly pleasant about this. More pleasant, though, is the fact that he doesn't want to bite Ned again. Not yet, at least.

When he opens his eyes, he's even able to glance at Ned's neck without that surge of hunger, despite the leftover blood that still remains. The fact that there's no broken skin, no visible wound, is confusing, but then, this whole day has been confusing.

"You're... it kind of makes sense, doesn't it?" His words are ponderous as he tries to get them out without stumbling over them like the drunken idiot he now fears he sounds like. "You can make things grow. You can heal things. Or at least heal yourself. Like growing the skin back."