Deleted Scene: Settlers of Talrega, chapter 11
Jill had the good sense to sit still. Maybe she had seen the wound, maybe she hadn’t—her face paler than the Daein winter, staring wide-eyed at nothing, a gaze slowly shifting when Haar sat beside her. A vague recognition as he ripped off his own gloves, then fumbled with the strap of her handguard, stretching the leather too far. He peeled off the glove, then squeezed her exposed hand between both of his. It was a slight warmth to alleviate shock, her hand colder than an ice storm.
“Mist,” she said slowly, as if learning to speak. “She’s... getting help.”
He nodded. Those fingers absently curled around his hand, her palm rougher than he thought it would be, despite the many long months she'd fought without him.
She smiled weakly. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” The sleeve had been torn away before he got there, the bloody gash she didn’t look at now, wrapped in a scrap of dirty cloth that didn’t adequately cover the wound. “Admit it when you’re hurt. Being stubborn like that will get you killed.”
Jill blinked slowly. He waited each time for her eyes to open again, as if they wouldn’t; she stared at the ground distantly, at the pooled blood that even he denied belonged to her.
“It hurts like hell,” she whispered.
Shiharam had hated seeing her cry. He could tolerate her screaming, but folded at the sight of tears, how they gathered heavy at the corners of her eyes. The color always rose high in her cheeks before they fell, that color a mild relief now in an otherwise pale face. Haar held her wrist as she slowly twisted the arm, fresh blood dripping from a gash so wide Mist couldn’t fix it herself.
“Everything hurts.” Her voice wavered, like that child holding back tears. “I miss him so much, Captain. I miss all of them.”
Haar nearly tasted the iron tang of blood himself, leaned over that arm, swallowing his own stubborn tears when she choked back a sob. The metallic grind of armor on armor was a strange comfort as she linked the uninjured arm around his neck.
“I know.” She wouldn’t feel his hand through her armor, but he rubbed her back anyway as the floodgates burst, her wet face to his breastplate. “So do I, Jill.”