The smoke drifts closer, still wary, but when Strange doesn't move, it hesitates. Well, as much as smoke can emote, at any rate; Lambert's just guessing about most of this. However, while it doesn't appear to register Strange as a threat now, it also doesn't seem to inclined to linger. Curiosity satisfied, it begins to drift away, dispersing back into the forest.

Or it would, if a witcher wasn't suddenly standing in its way.

"Strange, now!" Lambert shouts, already throwing his hand down towards the ground, the purple light of the magic trap flaring to life underfoot. With a heavy thump, the bicorn drops to the ground, forced into corporeality again, and it looks distinctly unhappy about the proceedings. Diamond-hard hooves gouge at the ground as it scrambles to get back to its feet, and its limbs flail out to smash anything that comes into range as its eyes roll wildly.