3.9

Jewel wobbled on her feet, but with care and tremendous effort she did not fall. She wanted to giggle, and as soon as the impulse arrived she produced warbling chirping sounds.

It was improper, and she soon mastered her laughter (mostly).

But this was a victory. She had managed to walk fully on her own across her room for the first time as her smaller self.

It was accomplished completely, if a bit unsteadily.

Her squire, so tall and comfortingly stable, was there next to her. He always was close when she made these attempts. And even a few days ago she had needed his shin to brace against with her hand.

Yet Jewel had strode clear across her bedroom and its many vast cushions without needing any aid at all!

“Excellent work, Gem! Good girl!”

The words were still confusing, but every day they struck clearer in her head. Fit better and meant more.

The truth of them staying longer even without the presence of her greater (proper) self and the touch of her wyrmfire.

But even when the precise memory of the words’ purpose had eluded her, Jewel could always tell in his voice that Smithson meant well. And now she heard his encouragement and the joy he shared with her in her accomplishments in addition to the meaning.

And these victories mattered.

No matter how small or trivial they were for her true self.

‘Gem’ had spent a year unable to stand upright without her strength giving way.

She still could not quite bring the words together in her throat. Her mouth was far too short, her neck squeezed down to practically nothing.

Jewel had found, after much trial and error, that there simply were not the same parts to make sound in this throat.

She had learned all her life how to speak with something entirely different from what her lesser throat held.

Jewel was not even entirely certain that this neck and mouth could speak.

But she tried again anyway, producing a high-pitched, warbling cry that simply refused to meet together into actual words. Although at least her joy was evident.

Smithson nodded to her, squatting down so she could toddle back to him for a hug and the utterly exhilarating sweep as he lifted her up and spun her around.

It was not really anything like flying.

Jewel thought in some ways it was even better!

One of the very few joys she alone could feel and then share with her greater self. To be lifted, to be carried, to be swung around by a force utterly and entirely not her own?

When she flew, when she rose on the buoy of her wyrmflame, there was an assurance. Jewel was always the one who imparted it.

But whenever Smithson or any of the other adults handled her Jewel was entirely at their mercy. With the nurse maid or any of the staff this was utterly terrifying. Filling her mind with muddled terror of the great boar and how it had tossed and trampled her.

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But with Smithson, Father or even Mother she knew that she would be safe. And that safety and assurance turned the completely uncontrolled whirling into a tremendously exciting delight.

Finally, her Squire set her back down and Jewel made a brief attempt to step again, but her head was suddenly quite a bit more addled than normal and nothing was up right properly.

Before she could even take her first step, she had started to fall!

But ever the perfect gentleman and Squire, Smithson was there for her, holding her shoulders and giving her something to brace against while the room slowly stopped tumbling and whirling.

She tried again to speak to him, to give thanks.

But all she could manage was the tone and gurgling.

Yet even there he was just so perfect, nodding to her despite the utterly mangled attempt at speech.

“You are very welcome, Lady Gem. Ready to try again?”

One of the staff came into the room and it startled her enough that she was suddenly frozen from walking for fear of the shame in front of a stranger.

Jewel felt uncomfortable itches in her head that she should recognize this person but could not without the presence of her greater self and the clearer memory to say for sure.

Her smaller eyes had only gained the clarity to discern faces across the room a short while ago.

But at the same time, the ages of time since she had so mastered her eyes also seemed an eternity.

Yet another mind-addling part of her situation.

Smithson and the staff member spoke rapidly, with a muddling tone that Jewel could not properly break apart.

All too deep and overlapping. Not clear and sharp like the tone Smithson, Her parents or even the spiteful nursemaid took when speaking to Jewel or her sister.

It was so frustrating, and as soon as she began to think it, Jewel felt tears were already welling at her eyes, a tightness building in her chest and throat. She had even the start of a keening in her untamable throat building to overwhelm her.

All rising in a sudden uncontrollable torrent.

It was just not fair!

Why did Jewel have to be maimed like this!

Why was she like this!

Why could she barely understand what her greater self heard as normal speech instead of the senseless infantilizing kinder talk meant for babies!

Why did she have to know how inadequate she was?!

Why wasn't Jewel just a normal daughter like her sister was to her mother?!

It was all too much and soon she was shuddering and sobbing and horrible sticky ooze was coming out of her nose and her vision was even worse for all the tears flooding from her eyes.

But Smithson was there and holding her and giving her something to chew on and rocking her.

When had he picked her up?

Jewel was not sure but the stranger was gone and now she was rocking and everything was getting fuzzy and she was getting rather full and it had been a very arduous day despite the length (barely a few hours awake).

She wanted to struggle and yell at the injustice of it. Jewel was a Lady, she was a Wyrm.

She should be able to stay up longer!

But as her wonderful squire rocked her and spoke soft soothing words and even sang a gentle song Jewel soon calmed from her wroth.

And then after that she drifted swiftly into sleep.