Despite reveling in the feral rut hungry for each other's climax, you manage to hold onto your self-respect as a human and snap back to your senses. You can't run the risk having felt your identity slipping again. You grit your teeth and start to buck and wrestle tossing your frisky mate off your back with a triumphant squeak.
The moment you are freed you crawl some distance away and ball up wrapping your tail around you tapping the tip to your nose, glaring back at the stunned male mouse rocking on his back. He peeks over his chest looking back dumbfounded noticing your change in mood. You happen to catch the sight of his rodent pride thick and pulsating dribbling essence eager to burst, the heady musk entrancing causing you to inch back closer. But once more you show you resilience to suppress your baser instincts coiling the tip of your tail over your rodent nose to help block out the smell, holding your ground and remaining watchful of the male mouse's next move.
The confused rodent eventually rolls back onto his paws sitting on his hindquarters, turning his head to you with a solemn gaze.
"I-I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." He speaks! You can understand him, though you are not exactly certain if it's human speech or the rodent part of your brain able to translate mousey squeaks. Either way you grow wide eyed with surprise.
Well; partly surprise. You know this is the owner of that scent trail, the one's whose musk is stained all over that Pentagram. The fact he is talking to you and expressing human emotion only adds evidence to him being the culprit that turned you into a mouse, the potential spellcaster.
"Honestly," the male mouse meekly exclaims turning completely to face you, dropping his head to his chest avoiding eye contact. "I...I've been stuck a mouse for so long that I can't help but follow my instincts. And...it's been a while since, well..." He darts his beady orbs down his stomach motioning his erect loins grasping his tail doing what he can to cover his rodent shame. "I smelled a female mouse. My urges kicked in and I started following you. I could hear you calling to mate, so I thought you wanted me. I thought you...no; how silly of me. You're just as much a victim as I am; how could I still be so blinded."
A victim? Is he saying he is another human transformed into a mouse too? Seeing him sulk makes you feel a little pity tempted to let your guard down and approach wishing to cheer him up. But wait; this could be a trap. If he is the victim then why was he squarely centered on that Pentagram under you bed jerking his spunk out for you to smell? In any case; you at least feel confident you can finally get some answers on what is going around here.
Although; part of you starts to waver on caring the more your nose sniffs and drinks the male's arousal, stealing another peek past his shielding tail to be mesmerized at his throbbing animal mast. Your loins throb and ache in kind urging you to drop your resilience and embrace the call to mate, to rut and breed and nest like good mice. You fear giving in will doom you both, if he is as innocent as he claims, but considering how easily you allow yourself to succumb to primal lust what's the point in fighting the inevitable. Maybe living as a feral mouse won't be as bad, now that you are united with a equally approachable mate.