Well, what about Eleanor?

He had halted, and seemed loth to ride into the stream; and they noted that for a while his eyes appeared not to see them or things about him. All that day he was silent.
'Are you in pain, Will?' said Lyra quietly as she rode by his side.
'Well, yes I am,' said Will. 'It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today.'
He was very pale and his eyes seemed to see things far away.
'I am wounded', he continued, 'wounded; it will never really heal.'
'Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured,' said Lyra.
'I fear it may be so with mine,' said Will. 'There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?'
Lyra did not answer.
But then he got up, and the turn seemed to pass, and he was quite himself the next day. It was not until afterwards that they recalled that the date was December the twenty-third.