[Saber's words bring with them the awareness of his stinging eyes, the dampness on his face. He turns his head, knowing it's useless to hide himself now but unable to face her another moment while she's smiling that painful smile.]
[Did she really think he would be better off without her?]
[-- Hadn't he thought so?]
[He... can't do this. Not now. He doesn't bother to try and choke out a farewell -- how could she trust his words if even he couldn't? -- and just walks hurriedly away. After half a dozen steps he gathers himself enough to fly, calling the wind with a sweep of his arm, letting it encircle and lift him. The miniature gale makes it impossible for him to hear if she calls after him, which is for the best, really. He has absolutely nothing to say for himself.]