Still no sign of the bird - both a good and bad sign, honestly. Good 'cause that meant he had a bit of time, bad because he didn't know how much.
In two seconds it wouldn't matter. He carefully climbed out to the tip of the thicker branch he was on, a good ways down the tree. This height was just on the edge of 'stupid to try, but survivable.' And it would have to do - the quiet around him was making him antsy, and nervous, and he really, really, just wanted to be done. And safe.
One more glance around gave him nothing, so he jumped.
A breath. Two. And he shifted, gasping as suddenly too big lungs tried to catch not-enough air, willing the sense of vertigo to just hang on for two seconds, and forcing uncooperative limbs to tuck in so he could hit the ground at a roll. It damn well knocked the breath out of him and jarred his knee bad enough that he knew he'd be feeling that for a couple of days, but, as he laid on the ground, sprawled out on his back where he'd landed (with a root digging into his ribs, ow) and blinking up at the sky through the branches, he couldn't help but be a bit proud. He hadn't broken anything this time.