Haku lets him rant, saying nothing at first. The gallows is an odd tower, originally constructed for what was, at the time, considered merely a sort of livestock. The stairwells are therefore wider than they ought to be in many places, all the better to move masses upwards and down along the tracts of mercantile interests. But here, he's turned and is now climbing, jar still tucked askew under one arm, up a much narrower flight.

Up and up, round and round, ever tighter, and the sounds of life below grow slowly quieter. The rush of wind begins to claim precedence, and still Haku climbs. He isn't listening very well, he's thinking of another climb, another tower.

"It could be worse," Haku replies, finally, rousing from his reverie with a sharp, refreshing inhale, "Do you have a name?"