Actually, maybe it's worse that you can't hear their annoyance. Because you end up imagining the abuse anyway: "JUST DO IT YOU IDIOT! A PRE-SCHOOLER COULD DO IT! IT'S NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE A CHALLENGE!" Better to hear "chrip, chrip, chrip" and hope only half of them are swearwords. I even felt an odd sense of relief to find myself alone on the final sequence, with my tiny, flaccid magic scarf. The euphoria of that last flight was interspersed by moments of blind panic as I lost momentum and flew into snowily picturesque rockfaces like a death spiralling seagull. It wasn't something I wanted any of my chirping BFFs to see.
To be fair, not all of them had been considerate companions either. My first chum had been wearing a robe that was much more embroidered than mine - multiple playthroughs? - and he/she had painstakingly guided me to the power-ups and murals. We were together for ages, and I was getting all the good bonding vibes which Matt Cundy on GamesRadar talked about. Then, when the big serpent appeared, my friendly guide suddenly disappeared. Maybe their router crapped out, or they suddenly wanted a sammich too, but the sensation of suddenly being left alone with this monster was one of the most impressively emotive moments in my Journey playthrough.
It's just lucky I don't have any abandonment issues. (RIGHT DAD?)
So yeah, I'm sorry. Except I'm not really. Even though I might not have been the best company on your Journey, seeing the different approaches of my partners, and reflecting on what I wanted from the game - a weird combination of not wanting to do it alone, but also wanting to be able to explore at my own pace - was a thrilling, thought provoking experience. I just wish I'd eaten first.