He would've been fine if she used her pyrokinesis; Helios on occasion does give him resistance--and what Helios can't or won't cover, the natural regeneration that comes from being out of Homid form would do the rest of the trick. But being out of Homid, Bran can't say that.

He'll have to explain later, probably.

But for now, Bran doesn't waste any time--he pounces again, as if he's a true corvid pouncing on a mouse dinner, only the monster is the mouse and he's driving in with fists and feet and doing his best to get through the scaled underbelly--it's still scales, after all, and thus a bit more armored than not. But not as much as the back. And honestly, not as much as, say, a Mokole, so he's only got a rough time of it, he's not shit out of luck.

The smell...gets worse, even as his talons go through the thing's guts. Probably why, between the guts and the likelihood he pierced the bowels, that might make sense. Bran's glad a beak doesn't get the same scent marks as a human nose--and that the closer he gets to Corvid, the less bad carrion smells. Not that he'd admit that out loud. But amid all the squawking and flailing and tearing, the monster on the bottom is losing, if not down for the count and just waiting to tap out, and after excruciatingly long moments, it does.

Bran hops off--not all of the gore on him is the monster's, after all--and shuffles towards Bobbie with one final croak. "Burn it!"

He'd be fine if she burnt it all, really. And if she can't? He will.