"I don't. It's. I mean." Soldat has to stop walking, collect their thoughts, focus on some origami folds for a moment. Then they can say: "It's fine. I'm not. Mad at you. Or. It's just."

They pause again, stymied, but identifying the feeling, at least. "I don't know why it bothers me. But it bothers me. Anyone. Not just you. Not just the situation. But I don't. Like the idea of people hauling me around, I think. Even if I'm dead."