Dean sends the horse off running for any number of reasons she can put to the guess, and it really is a commentary on all of them. They'd spare animals they have no stake in, where they don't choose the same path for themselves. Hand bracing the crossbow, eyes on Dean, she has the second to catch the flicker of it. The one that starts with that's a special level of insanity right there, one small man, with the whole roll of land and that threatening cloud, and ends up in bone-deep, grim, glinting respect, solid as a diamond, and just as hard to shift.

(A little bit of awe that gets one breath before she's banishing it down hard. No distractions.)
The crossbow gets leveled, with his ability to get a wide arc of movement across her viewpoint.

The ground settles, the dust hangs in the air, and even before it can have the chance to float down, the ground erupts with a monster. One, and then another, and Dean's working one side, and she starts with the center. Not shooting too close to him, considering shot time is longer than a bullet for it to land, but aiming to shoot through the head of whichever one realizes what Dean's doing to its closest neighbor.

Dean finishes off one, and her first is sailing toward the ground dead or not quite yet (he'll be able to tell better than her from here; it's part of why she doesn't like distance all that much either), and she sends another bolt pegged for it still. Safer than sorry. But more heads are pushing up out of the ground and the cloud of dust, all the more angry-vicious for the smell of blood, death screams, and flying viscera.