Feeling through the air to her right, a pale hand found Birdie's on the third try. "Sorry," she croaked, barely loud enough to carry over the nearby rending of earth. The tactile sync of the senses, according to both Gray and Jaime in months passed, at first produced a very mild discomfort and a low grade haze to the sight, like sleepy winkers in the eyes of one recently woken. She'd normally ask, but there wasn't time. If they had to run, some coordination was required; even pirated sight from an inaccurate vantage point was better than none. That they'd have to do so seemed unlikely. Compulsion had worked before ... As soon as the visual input from Birdie clarified, she was reminded of the constant, fatal error of hope and optimism. The Wendigo bore down on them at speed—a reanimated roadkill behemoth to make a children's fairytale of every Japanese horror film she'd ever seen. With no more useful skills in her arsenal, and the physical resilience of a skinned grape, the irony of being snuffed out by the friend to whose 'memory' she'd begged forgiveness just days before tickled sick, quaking laughter from her torn throat.
Her eyes grew large as a lemur's as the creature pulled a switchback in pursuit of Roger. Both were too fast for intervention. Under no delusion of nobility on Roger's part, she had to assume he'd acted on survival, leaping out from behind a hay bale when the proximity of danger was too much to stomach. But he'd clearly been paying attention when she and Gray had hollered at Rickon Stark ("Serpentine, you moron!") in Game of Thrones' Battle of the Bastards, because he zig-zagged like a damned pro. In the same vein as her situationally incongruent laughter, Cress cracked a grin before adrenaline replaced the flicker of amused pride with the reprisal of abject terror.
Catching her breath in the wake of a miss so near she could still smell the stink of it -Jaime2 wasn't wrong about that mint- she squeezed Birdie's hand, tugging in the direction of the lump of rucksack abandoned by the Labyrinth's wooden stairs. Jaime always kept a battery-powered MagLamp. In the event that the light from the tent wasn't enough, they'd be protected by it. Karma and justly rewarded heroism willing, Roger would dart from the tent to join them. Sprinting as the blood-curdling shrieks intensified, she dropped to her knees beside the sack. The beading on her dress chimed softly on the earth, released by rips in her abused skirts. With her free hand, she began tearing into its contents, her breath a rhythm of labored wheezing. "MagLamp," she managed.
An outraged cry not belonging to the Wendigo rang metres above them. The fine hair on her arms stood on end not from fear, but from the new electrical charge to the air. Feathers and Ozone accompanied the heady scent of petrichor preceding a storm. A second cry, clearly avian, pierced the celestial dome acting as an umbrella to the madness below. The horrendously proud, temperamental Thunderbird who'd been giving Gray trouble for years had been drawn to the magical disturbance like a moth come to batter itself against a lamplight. And batter, she did.
Talons crunched the uppermost support beams of the shooting gallery as she claimed perch atop the highest vantage, observing their small corner of Hell. Grey and black and speckled as a peregrine's, she extended a tremendous wingspan in a show of dominance, meant to cow whichever inferior creature in the area had dared to so gracelessly encroach on her territory. A raptor's cry in tandem with a sharp cant of her head failed to identify the culprit. The most prominent of her pinions and forefeathers began to glow blue, crackling with energy.
So not quite Godzilla... Sight was funny, like that.
In keeping with tonight's luck, she and Birdie were fortunately positioned beside a massive structure of conductive metal and glass. As the first and final warning cry split the night, she yanked at Birdie's elbow, pulling the witch into a dive to the alcove beneath the wooden rise into the Labyrinth. Lightning forked the sky, shocking the Midway in low contrast white.
Each light in the surrounding area went dark, the respective magics and electricity sustaining them overpowered by the expulsion of magic.