The 2nd Month 

I awaken mid-scream and finally, finally, finally I have met my mother. She doesn't seem to be the loving sort, preferring to have someone else hold the drooling baby while she looks at me. Not that I don't empathize, being a baby, I can truthfully say that we drool way too much. So even then I follow her face with my eyes and smile at her. I get a cool nod in response. No hug or baby talk or anything an infant could interpret as affection.  

Maybe she's not that expressive though? I don't know, I really don't. But she does address herself as 'Mother', which is one of my most recent entries in the mental dictionary I have been compiling.  Because while I see many, many children on my trips out and about, and see them interacting with their parents... They use a less formal variant. How she says 'Mother' really doesn't translate well but it's the way you address your mum when you've knocked over her favourite vase, or some other form of naughtiness.

It's strict, stern and non-casual. Honestly, if I was not a two-month-old baby I would seriously think I had done something wrong. But I am a two-month-old baby and therefore can't exactly do much other than eating, sleeping, slight movements and babbling. And, well, going to the toilet but nappy changes are done by one of the slaves responsible for me so that cannot be it.  

Perhaps I was sick on her? Her clothes are a soft green fabric that's embroidered heavily. In a world without sewing machines that would have to be done by hand. Which would have taken ages, which in turn makes it expensive – just like how lace used to be worth a fortune in the past. Still, she's really a beauty, with sharp green eyes, long black hair and an amazing figure. A seriously amazing figure. It's to the extent that I am glad I am bottle fed. If I was thinking as an adult during breastfeeding it would have been as awkward as hell. 

She says something sharply to the woman holding me. Who promptly hurries over to lay me down on a table with a concave surface. Pale gold lacquered nails reach out towards me. I truly feel like a tortoise waiting for a golden eagle to swoop down and grasp it with its talons.  

Luckily, they aren't actually that sharp as they twist, turn and otherwise move my body for inspection. I try another baby gurgle and smile, but being creeped out does wonders when it comes to inhibiting facial expressions from seeming natural. In turn that makes me feel... bad. Shouldn't a mother have an actual child to love? Not some reincarnated old soul trapped in a child's body? 

And then I lose it. I take back my guilty emotions. And continue to lose it. Because while I have some control over my emotions, that was beaten out by an infant's instinctive reaction to pain. That woman jabbed her fingernails into my shoulder! On purpose! So, I cry, and scream, and mentally say words which no two-month-old should ever know the meaning of. And then I either revert to baby mode or hyperventilate myself unconscious. The last thing I see is her pleased face... 

The 2nd Month & 2 Weeks 

There was a lot of shouting coming from outside today. I'm enduring though it is tough. At times like this I want to revert to baby mode. But the joy, I have to think in order to exhaust my mind back to that state. And how am I supposed to do that when the yelling is making me unable to hear myself think?! Literally!  

There are horses neighing as well, but I won't hold that against them. It's the fault of the humans who ride them. Besides, they are currently on the move, hooves thundering against the ground as they carry the loud men away from the tent complex. Better for my eardrums, though everyone has become rather tense. I hope we're not getting attacked. If I am stuck in this world, which I am, I would prefer to be on the higher side of the social hierarchy. 

It is precisely because I am that worried that I push myself to the limits and stay awake for as long as possible. All I do for what feels like hours and hours is strain my ears for a hint of their return. I wound up falling asleep before any news came my way though. When I woke up the woman looking after me had dark circles under her eyes. And she dropped the bottle with my milk in. It ended up smashed, which was a pity. And the replacement bottle wasn't warmed. 

I would be concerned about it being spoilt, but it was chilled. Like, fresh out of a refrigerator chilled. Is that a dimensional storage cheat as well? It made a nice change from the monotony of warm milk so I didn't complain. Besides, she seems stressed enough as it is without a cranky baby. Just let this be over and done with soon. Please? 

The 2nd Month, 2 Weeks & 2 Days 

We won. Or lost badly enough that the soldiers absolutely have to drink all the alcohol in the tribe before the enemy gets to it. I'm opting for the former, the latter was sarcasm. Terrible, I know, but the drunken carousing is inhibiting any attempt at genuine humour on my part. 

...Some idiot just knocked a candle over and set the tent on fire. I'm going to scream before I die of excessive smoke inhalation. Or not. As soon as the fire reached palm size a runic pattern on the tent activated and sucked up the fire. Should I be worried to live in a tent with this function? 

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The 3rd Month 

Not that it was cold during the daytime before, it was actually quite pleasant, but recently the weather is much hotter. The daylight hours are also lengthening, I presume, because my daily thought limit gets in the way of confirming that. Conclusion: it is Summer.  And then for a dose of reality: Summer is not enjoyable without air conditioning and bug repellent. Leaving me with the dilemma of boiling while hiding under the blanket or getting irritating bites should I forsake it. 

Well after my caretakers discovered the many mosquito bites over my body some kind of incense was lit in the corner of the tent. It stinks, but it does keep most of the insects away, and in the nick of time as well. It is not nice to have a blood-sucking thing crawling over you and being unable to get rid of it. Other than by rolling over, which takes intense concentration and physical effort. 

I did try squishing the mosquito, but it flew away to another part of me on the first attempt and the second attempt resulted in nearly poking my eye. Not good. I have no intention of finding out just how lacking medical care is in this tribe until absolutely necessary. Unless they have healing magic, which would be awesome.  

But since that is not confirmed, I like having good vision and will stay away from eye-risking activities. I always wore glasses previously, and still never achieved this level of clarity. Not that it's worth living a medieval life, but looking on the bright side is useful upon occasion. 

Another positive would be that my language studies are going well. I can figure out one word in ten, on average. Usually what amounts to a filler word – such as 'and' or 'the' - though. It would have been even better had I not spent so much time hung up over the different grammar. Despite all this I have yet to figure out my name. It's 'Young Master' this and 'Young Master' that from the slaves, and I don't get other visitors. I really am quite the pariah. 

That was why it was so surprising when the witch with the sharp nails, aka 'Mother', came on her next visit and brought some children with her. So, these are my siblings? There's three of them in total, two boys around five years of age who are glaring at each other and a little girl who is probably two years old.  

I genuinely didn't expect this. For a start, my Mother looks to be about twenty-one. How young was she when she had her first child? Ah, right. This is a world closer to the past than to the present, the age for marriage is going to be younger than the modern-day norm.   

That aside, she is currently gesturing one of the boy's forwards with a slight smile on her face. It's easy to tell the difference between the two, one is strongly built while the other looks like a gust of wind would blow him over. Sickly doesn't even begin to cover it, even now he's coughing into his sleeve. A hacking cough, not just clearing his throat. Sounds nasty. 

While on that train of thought, is it really a good idea to introduce an ill child to your new baby? Really? I'm bottle-fed as well, it's not like I have been fed antibodies through breast-milk so I am more vulnerable to disease. Irresponsible parenting has been added to the charge of absentee parenting. Wait? What are they saying? 

"Tsuri... I...???? ... first???" 

They're arguing about who gets to say hello to the new baby first? At least that's what I think the frail boy was going on about. And the other boy named Tsuri ignores him. So, he tries again.

"Tsuri... I eldest son...???... Eldest son...????... goes first?" 

Eldest first would make sense in a tribal or feudal world. But I won't judge just yet - because I could have mistaken the situation given the total scope of knowledge I possess. Then mother speaks and I could have sworn the temperature in the tent dropped. Does she have ice magic? Gone was the faintly pleased smile. Now was the time of the glacial glare. 

"Enough...??? …????????-????...?? ...Juntel!" 

Juntel.  A word which I was actually, for once, very familiar with. Just never, ever in this kind of context. When I was taken outside, it would inevitably be to a child friendly area. And I was grateful for that. Children have more limited vocabularies and are more repetitive in speech. Therefore, learning the language was easier. Along the way I had also picked up a collection of jeers and taunts. Juntel numbered among them. 

Calling someone Juntel was the equivalent of calling them a weakling, useless, a failure, nothing but a burden. It was definitely not a nice word. Upon several occasions kids had been punished for using it within adult earshot. Not that that stopped them using it. Kids can be cruel. The adult tribespeople seldom intervened in the children's matters, that showed just how serious this one word was. Breaking someone's nose was less of an issue than calling them it.  

And 'Mother' had just used it to refer to her son. She wasn't even that angry! It wasn't said in the heat of the moment. It was just a casual dismissal... which caused tears to form in my eldest brother's eyes. My other brother, Tsuri, sneered before walking forwards. I didn't get exactly what he said, it was too formal. But it seemed to be a perfunctory welcome to the family speech? Then they all left, Mother giving me another sharp pinch on the way. What was up with her?! 

The only one to look back was eldest brother. His tears were gone, reddened eyes being the only remaining evidence of them. And he was glaring at me. Then, as if that was not enough to convey his hatred he spat on the floor rug. That triggered another coughing fit, which sprayed even more spit around. Before he finally left. If there was a door it would have slammed shut, but this was a tent so the flap simply swished back into place. 

I was left with just my thoughts. Which were mainly on the resent sequence of events. I didn't comprehend them at all. Why hate me? I clenched my stubby fingers, reminding myself once more that I was now a baby who hadn't even had their first birthday. What was there to loathe? I was hardly treated well... the flesh on my right arm still stung as testament to that... I give up. I just don't know.