He stops and goes unnaturally still, head swiveling to face the gargoyle. His wings are spread wide as if to ride an updraft that doesn't exist and flap only slowly a few times like an afterthought as he hangs in the air.

The raven's beak opens, but nothing comes out—rather, it snaps shut after what seems like a moment of fighting with himself.

As such the reply is mental, ringing loudly in Vigil's head.

You- who? Who are you? What is this place? WHERE IS THIS PLACE?