Miles puts a hand on the pipe to steady himself, but he needn't bother. Seven is a bony perch, but solid as the bedrock on which he stands. Now, grab here and there, and turn... blessed luck, the joint gives way before Miles's fragile fingers do anything more than ache warningly. With a squeak and a crack, the pipe disjoins, sagging a few inches at the juncture and loosing a sparkling stream of water to splash onto the rocky floor.