Pathetic. An incredibly cruel and uncharitable thought, considering the young girl in front of him is dying from the magic in her chest. But it's the tone of her voice that sets his teeth on edge; his ear evidently cannot distinguish between simpering self-pity, and the dark nights of the soul brought on by true despair.

Either that, or he can tell the difference, and just doesn't give a shit.

"In that case, perhaps I should leave you as easy prey to these vultures," he all but spits, gesturing wildly with one arm towards the distant, murky shapes that prowl like wolves beyond the water's edge. He glares at her fiercely. "What sort of mage are you to let the Fade destroy you, when you should be its master? I'm offering you your life, but if you'd prefer to wilt like a dying flower rather than accept my intervention, then I'll leave you to rot."

He turns to do just that.