"I knew I should have saved all that hair," he calls, just to keep Mark aware of his location. Moving gingerly, more for the perceived fragility of the floor than his injury, Kira pulls himself to perch on the windowsill, an arm looped to anchor over the intruding branch.

The question itself isn't one he can answer, but until they meet up and find a way down, throwing ideas at it can lead Mark over. Now that he's half out the window and paying attention, Kira can see how the walkways pass below, and he might lower himself down when it's proven safe to walk across.

There has to be a ladder, a set of stairs--even some stupid pulley system just to move resources up and down. Impressive as it is for this to be up here, if it is the same general place, he can't imagine no one going to ground again. Even with the spray of plants growing over inside the treehouse--lichens on the branches, a plot of dirt in the hollow of the trunk.

"This didn't happen before," he points out. "Even coming through the fountain wasn't like this, but I guess we wouldn't know the difference. It could just be a new simulation." Mark's voice was close enough that he's stopped shouting his answers, and when he sees him round a corner, holding onto aged rails and hanging branches, he lifts his free hand for one sharp chop of a wave.