Crow. [He says, completely unable to hear the Q, but it's fine. He's a little confused but he got the spirit. He fully does not pick up on Qrow's nerves, either, mainly because he's already a little scrombled himself.] I warn you I'm liable to forget it, I'm no good with names. Mine's Fiddleford.

How likely do you think we are to run into... I don't know, rabid mole people or carnivorous cave worms or whatever else would live in a hole in this place?

[The possibilities truly are endless, hole-wise.]