It may just be the number of shiny new things the mortal has left out, but there's soon another visitor to his stall. Three, actually, but the first two crows are just there to peck at things and they scatter when a bigger, glossier bird flies down in their midst, cawing sharply at them.

Once the troublemakers are dispatched, the remaining crow hops closer to where Vanyel's latest potion is in progress, cocking its head to study it and the mortal with bright black eyes.

"You, featherless." The bird's voice is rough and croaking, but surprisingly soft. It sounds like she might be a female. "You are a mage, yes?"