Any other situation, she might have taken his plea as a threat rather than the warning it was, and given the Wendigo a piece of her mind. But Birdie was already cautious of getting too close to the tussling pair, and she wasn't about to willingly go closer, not when things seemed to so quickly go sideways. She watched as her spell wrested the Dueling Jameses apart, fake James proving to be fake as all get out when he hopped around like some fancy cartoon lady spotting a mouse and then bolted. It was the smartest possible move in Birdie's estimation, but she didn't have much time to wonder about who or what had just run before real James began to bust apart, a roiling mess of bones and blood rearranging themselves into a hulking monster shape.
Despite how she might look or sound to others, Birdie wasn't dumb, and she was already scrambling back towards Cressida and the nearest Midway lamplight when the Oracle's compulsion hit. A glancing blow, perhaps, brushing against her back in a shivery wave and blending with her own urges to do just that, but Birdie still had a mind for Jaime and she was fumbling for one more charm, snapping the thread that held it around her wrist and using the burst of energy to light her quartz up. It wasn't much - the light of a lone candle at best, weak but warm and steady, though it wouldn't last long. She chucked it in Jaime's direction even as she reached the safety of a lamppost, then fumbled for her phone and its flashlight app. She got it working and then slid that over the ground towards Jaime, hoping six diagonal inches of white LCD screen was enough to help.
"I'm on your right," she snapped to Cressida noticing the other woman was missing her critter with a brief glance before both eyes fixated on tracking James. She snapped another of her dwindling store of charms - curse her lack of foresight to bring any of the stronger ones that might have really helped. The little quartz orb brightened a touch, then steadied back to its dimmer former state. "Reach out a hand for me. I ain't want you runnin' smack into a dark alley if'n we haveta git." Cressida's hands were around her throat, her face twisted like she'd swallowed a cactus, but Birdie's priorities lie in getting and staying safe before much else. Everyone knew running from a predator was a piss-poor idea, but if he couldn't get to sufficient light or Cressida's compulsion didn't work, it was also their only chance. Birdie was always happy to serve people dinner, but she wasn't about to offer it of her own body like some blonde backwoods Eucharist.