Good things come in sevens, but the best things come single and alone. That’s what he thinks, anyway, But when he abandons seven for just one, he doesn’t realise the loss he bears, like a heavier version of the phantom weight one has from wearing clothes.
The seven turn pitch black and fly away, so how can he weigh the worth of what he deems as weightless? Regardless, it’s not up to him to bring them home. So he leaves the task to his daughter; not that he has a choice (because it’s hers to make), and even though he can’t follow, he still feels her every move while she’s gone, from the cold climbing her feet to the pain of loss in her little finger.
He feels all of it, and wonders if he’s possibly done something wrong.