She contemplated the vines with a tilt of her head and a subtle tension between her brows. Those wintry eyes fell into a tight squint of focus. Although the witch had never known fear, she recognized that these thorns were not of her magic, and would possibly not even react to her magic. She didn't try to influence them; with strange spells, it was best to leave them be. The silence stretched on until finally, the witch took one slow, cautious step backward.
When her attention lifted, the dark humor in her eyes was all for the Beast. "It seems you have a witch of your very own, animal. Let her tinker with or remove my spell for you!" And with that, there was a new hiss of jealousy. It sounded strange and alien on the witch's tongue, but she did not think on it. Instead, she turned to leave them to their sad circumstances.