Slowly, mercifully, the onslaught of despair subsides. Howl remains motionless on the ground, soaking wet and on his knees, but now there is a city street beneath him, grey and smooth and clean. His sobbing has been replaced with deep, shaky breaths. He's still collecting himself when he hears Emet-Selch's voice in his head, quiet and yearning. Controlled again.

When Howl rises to his knees and lifts his head, he's finally able to take in the expansive landscape around them. It feels foreign to him, and it's clearly not the city that housed the royal quarters he saw before, but there's an overwhelming nostalgia invading his mind as well, layering on top of his own genuine emotions. One look at Emet-Selch tells him that the peril has passed, and that he's succeeded in saving his friend. This sadness is not being shared for the purpose of hurting him anymore, but it hurts him all the same.

Howl doesn't want to stay. He doesn't want to talk to Emet-Selch about what he's just seen and felt, or what he had to say to make him lash out. He swallows dryly and turns away. As he does, a coat of feathers emerges from his arms and clothed back, and his mind pushes back against the psyche overlapping with his own. He wants out of this. Get Emet-Selch out of his head, get himself out of his head, and let him fly away.