[He hears it he thinks, feels it, the slice of talons through cloth, the drag of them as they splay the other man's shirt open in four perfectly parallel lines. A moment of sickness, of dizziness, at the thought that it may have been flesh. But it's momentarily lost to the sudden scattering of the Witch's form, a bright burst of black, swift-moving wings, corvids taking flight.

The Witch coalesces to the left of him just as his mind starts to make sense of what he's seeing, leaves him disorientated. Caught somewhere between mild alarm and awe. He's seen a lot of things - water springing fourth from sand, the leap of flames against a tawny palm, magic that cuts, that deliciously hurts - but this is something different. Something unsettlingly new.

He stares at him a moment, his suddenly solid form. Shocked into silence. But all of a sudden the moment breaks and he's covering the space between them in two log digitigrade strides, the look on his face one of perfect concern.]

Are you all right? Didn't cut you, did I? Let me see...

[He stops short of the other man, close to the ledge of the flat, carved rock. One hand slightly raised as though he wants to reach out and touch him, held in check only by the Witch's cool self-possession. The faint aura he gives of someone who wouldn't want to be touched.]

But um...to answer your question, yes. Heightened reflexes. I'm not normally nearly so fast.