Her hand clasped firmly around Cressida's, Birdie did her best to strike a balance between a grip that would persist if they got knocked around and one that wouldn't accidentally break any of the delicate-seeming bird bones she could feel beneath the skin. There was a sudden strange feeling, as though her body wasn't quite sure how to process what was happening, and a haze over her vision that she quickly blinked away. She didn't know what Cressida had done, but she had a guess as the woman's normal thousand-yard stare sharpened into something that looked like real sight, focused in too closely on where things were happening to just be a best guess based on sound.
"God bless that critter," she gasped as the turquoise streak that was Roger darted through and drew the huge, charging Wendigo away from them, and she was already moving as Cressida tugged her over towards the abandoned sack holding that MagLight, the most precious of treasures in the current moment. She was just turning to investigate the diminishing noise when their trouble compounded, and she turned back to help scrabble for the light.
Cressida spotted the brewing trouble before she did, but Birdie was agile on her feet as they dove to the relative safety of the alcove. "Hellfire and damnation," Birdie cursed under her breath, accompanied by the delicate pops of bursting lightbulbs. "Loud as Gabriel's trumpet and useless as a saddle pocket on a hog," she spit out under her breath as she reached for the lamp and clicked the switch a few times. As she'd feared: nothing. Not so much as a spark of light they could use against James, assuming he hadn't forgotten they existed. If she hadn't used up all the good luck she'd ever owned or borrowed against in her life, he'd go after the oversized sparkly chicken instead of two skinny women who wouldn't be more than a snack.
There wasn't much she could do, but there was the issue of Cressida's mangled throat. Birdie could practically hear the damage in the ravaged rasp of her voice, but even if her first compulsion hadn't worked well that wasn't to say it wouldn't be useful a second time. "Sorry, sugar, but this ain't gonna be fun," she warned apologetically, reaching out to cup a warm and slightly clammy palm over Cressida's throat. She ripped the energy she needed from the lingering traces of the Thunderbird's magic in the air and her own stores, shoving it into the injury like an overstuffed suitcase. It would feel like cramming a week's worth of healing into those spare few seconds, a crude field healing lacking all the normal comfort of her usual ministrations, but it'd give them another shot with that voice if needed. And if not, at least Cressida would be able to speak above that pained whisper.
That done, her hand fell away as she slumped back against wood, feeling a little like a deflated balloon as her body adjusted to the sudden drop in energy.