Sonia's brows knit together, but the look of sympathy on her face extends to another level entirely. "Not for another week or two, at least," she says with a wry frown. She cups her hand around his and brings it closer to her for warmth, scooting a little closer to Byerly's side. She probably ought to help Byerly put his glove back on and her own, and she will, but for the moment there's something blessedly normal and comforting about the simple act of holding someone's hand.

"At least the bowstring didn't catch you in the mouth," Sonia concedes with a little ha. "Then you'd be truly crippled."