The changes felt so much quicker now, now that they were comfortable sending her gifts, comfortable acknowledging her existence and pressing for more. The magic in her blood was waiting for this, she could tell, even if it was a wild and primal thing. More and more of them came to give lessons and lectures and stinky sprays come each summer, too, so denying it felt harder still. They would leave, when pressed, though she could tell they were just humoring here. The magic thrumming beneath their skin was adult, mature and the looks upon their faces were disappointed and indulgent, not cowed.

They came as humans, too - so tall and large and talking in such a different, strange tongue. They showed her how to be like them, cajoled her to mould her throat to make their sounds. In time, the words they used filtered into her mind as sure as the river's flow. They claimed their doctrine prevented them from using their bizarre machines and strange still structured magics to simply place it there, and that it was the workings of her mind, her body, her spirit. It was enough like the workings of her dreams and form that it made sense, but the feeling of it slipping inside her from without lingered for so, so long.

And after the words they showed their bodies, how they coped and soothed away the aches inside and cleared the little hairballs she coughed up. The discomforts of bipedalism, hairlessness, and all of those bizarre things were all addressed, with a patient but exasperated tone. It helped, of course it helped, but the clothes they gave her never felt as right as her pelt, always tight and textured and tugging against the grain of her motion in odd little ways, and she just wanted to stay small, and her.

After that, they brought more teachings, and those brought new things to her world and home.