Even if he couldn't say it, that moment of vulnerability that washes through him feels like a wound left exposed...and there's some shift in the people around him that has him clamping down on it once more. He can't...read them. Exhaustion or stress or the general way he's been keeping himself closed off, he's not sure, but a glance to Hawke's face sees a tight smile and to Amelia's sees a mask firmly in place he could have sworn wasn't there a moment ago.

And all at once, something dark fills in where the relief had washed through before. Guilt. Shame. A flash of his family's faces laughing and joking as he stands at the edges of the room to watch them. He should have stayed home. Texted them. They're right, what could he have done to help regardless, with his magic gone and his scythe back home? He just worried them. He brought them to violence that could have seen them captured or hurt...still could. What if one of the birds had caught sight of them?

He feels sick and hollow and hateful, not to them but to himself. He should have kept quiet.

He steps back and out of their physical reach, that same detached expression from earlier back in his face as he lifts his chin. "I'll see myself back to the Hollow. Get home, please. Clean up. Take care of each other...and maybe keep your heads down a couple days. Good night, loves."

If he lingers, waits for them to answer, they might...say something. Push. He couldn't give them the chance. Maybe it made him look foolish, to show up and then leave so quickly, but maybe he should. He shouldn't have come in the first place. Shouldn't have involved them. He gives a nod and turns to head back the way he came, bag resituated on his shoulder and a hand wrapped tightly around the strap.