Every time he loses a companion, or has to leave one behind, he starts to think maybe it’s better that way. Maybe he shouldn’t pull these fragile little beings out of their humdrum, ordinary lives and drag them off on adventures that could get them killed, or worse.
Every time, he vows never again; they’re so short-lived, and he gets too attached to them, and then they leave, or he leaves, and it hurts. He hates goodbyes.
Every time, he travels alone, and it’s worse, because he needs his companions to be his conscience. Without them, he could destroy everything.