Azaldi simply watched her walk away for a moment without another word and sat at the base of a large tree, taking some bread from his pack to eat.
While he had been by himself, all the gravity of the situation seemed to hit him again, seeming to flip his view of the situation. Perhaps it had just been temporary giddiness brought on by the fact that Azaldi had miraculously been saved from his sentence. Now, he seemed to finally see what he had done. What he had done. Everything was his fault. Everything. If the woman hated him, it was completely his fault. If Azaldi didn't look at him in the fond way he used to, then it was his fault. The guards were his fault, the bandits, god damned everything was his fault, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.
As Tiraris approached, Windsor leaned away from her, his stare weary, as if he had been emptied of all the energy that had been in him before. His look was no longer observant or watchful, but dull, emotionless, and with no sign of anything else but how drained he seemed to be. Bowing his head he walked back to camp without a word. There were none of his usual words to say. There was nothing to say.