In any case, Mercutio's bird need not fear - the crows belong to Caesa, and she wishes Vashti no harm. Though when that question is posed, the Witch's features darken. Only slightly, but it is enough. The fire flares violently out of nowhere, and the crows hop backward, screeching with fear. "The Huntress may call this place hers, but that does not make it so." Her features flatten calmly. "And you, Mister Benvolio? What brings you to my crag?"