Most do not, but that does dismiss the gleam hiding behind their eyes, or the whispers in their bones.

[Hubert opens one hand, a lazy swirl of violet mist forming in his palm. It's a statement—I'm a Witch. A passing turnskin (a badger?) stops, ears perked by the show of magic.]

And if they heed that ceaseless call, the beast consumes them, and they may turn feral. Witches, in turn, and offer them magic to help steady their minds.