He's startled by the crow's reaction, quick reflexes having him jerk back from the blanket lump. Watching the crow warily, Spirit offers his free hand with fingers open--the other is occupied by a mug of soup. "Hey, relax--just visiting. I promise I'll be good."

When he sees a peek of blonde from the blanket, Spirit tilts his head and offers the mug.

"So long as your friend isn't going to peck my eyes out," animals and witches, animals and witches--it's an association he just can't shake. "I'll help you drink. I brought mostly broth since you didn't seem too enthused yesterday."

Unlike the night before, his tone is serious. Concerned. Were Kit to peek out further, she'd see furrowed brows and genuine concern in his eyes. He had been worried last night, genuinely so. He nudges the mug of soup closer.

"I promise it's less poisonous than last night's alcohol."