For a moment, if Dean happens to watch her while he's moving his wards, it looks as if Integra might be preparing to light a cigarette - but no, it's a flare. A dull copper-colored one, that she lights with one hand while jerking her horse's head up with the other. With the birds just tilting into their attack run directly at her, she hurls the lit thing at them, and then digs her heels into her mount's flanks. The horse bolts, taking Integra right under them and out -

- Over her head, the flare combusts in a loud, blinding explosion that seems too light and too far-reaching to be the work of something as mundane as gunpowder. The crows shriek, burning, panicked, apparently melting into nothingness right before their eyes. That trick didn't get all of them, though, and the remaining ones dart up, uneven and shell shocked.

"Take a note," she calls out to Dean, pulling out her side-arm once more as the surviving birds begin to collect themselves. "They don't like magic."