Iman steps in a little too, and Vince feels a little bubbling of comfort that he's not the only one who's a bit freaked. She could probably take care of herself, though, he reckons; she seems like a tough bird, and crows are well brainy and all. Vince wonders suddenly what sort of animal Howard would have if he was here; maybe a big old burly Northern bear to match his big Northern self. Or really, probably somethin' all tiny and soft and sensitive, one of those animals what puffs itself up to look all impressive, but when it comes right down to it, legs it off sharpish.

Slightly gives a squeaky little fizz of sound, apparently quite pleased with the notion of having to protect a little Howard-animal, and Vince gives them a little flick. It's not exactly like hummingbirds are great brawlers themselves.

'Read me mind,' he says, to the suggestion that they get out of here. 'I know you can tell directions from, like, where the moss grows on the trees? But I ain't sure which direction we've gotta go in, so...' He finagles a hand into one of his trouser pockets and produces a €2 coin, hefting it. 'Pick a direction, flip a coin?'