***Thank you to my reviewers! (Hint Hint Hint)

(Lady Anne: If Sandry went back to Winding Circle, there wouldn't be a story)

*****I am co-opting characters belonging to Tamora Pierce for the purposes of amusing myself. I am not trying to impersonate the aforesaid author in anyway nor am I attempting to create works of the caliber of the aforesaid author. I am also not trying to offend any diehard fans of the aforesaid author. I am not implying, in any way, that the personalities and/or traits of the characters as presented in my story are, in actuality, the personalities an/or traits that the said characters exhibit in the published and copyrighted books of the aforesaid Tamora Pierce. (I.e. Sandry may not be, and probably isn't, left-handed.) I think that's enough disclaiming, on to the story.

Left-Handedness

Lady Sandrilene fa Toren hummed softly to herself as she wrote. She had been feeling guilty for the past few days, ever since the latest letter from her foster sister, Trisana Chandler had arrived. No one would have thought the snappish, somewhat retiring Tris to be a letter-writer, but she had surprised everyone when, isolated from her foster-siblings at the University of Lightsbridge, she had begun churning out missives almost faster than they could be posted and read. Although she had calmed down somewhat, Sandry received long epistles from her every few weeks.

There's been a dedicate from Northern Capchen staying at Winding Circle. I wish he was able to meet you, but he's leaving a few weeks before-

"You wish that the dedicate were able to meet your foster sister, my dear," a quiet, yet commanding voice admonished. "You are quite neglective of the subjunctive tense, Sandrilene."

Sandry jumped, startled by the interruption. "Uncle," she exclaimed, beginning to rise, "how long have you been-"

"The subjunctive," Duke Vedris reminded her, gently pressing on her shoulder to indicate that she was to remain seated.

"Oh." Sandry said, ducking her head, "yes. The subjunctive." She took up a damp cloth there for the purpose and painstakingly wiped the still wet ink off the paper as best she could. Fortunately linen rags had gone into the making of this sheet, and she silently forced the fibers to give up their last drops of the dye. In the blank space that remained, she carefully corrected and finished the sentence: "I wish he were able to meet you, but he's leaving a few weeks before you get back." She stopped writing and looked up at her uncle.

He simply motioned for her to continue. "I will be content to observe."

The girl looked quizzically at him, but turned back to her writing. Now that she was being watched, however, she couldn't think of a thing to write. Sandry started to chew absently on the end of her pen, before she remembered who was in the room with her. I was telling him about your magic, and he seemed very interested. Of course, maybe he was just being polite, she wrote at last. As she formed her letters, her hand dragged through the ones already written. Suppressing a curse, she reached for her cloth once again.

"If you did not write with the incorrect hand, Sandrilene," the duke advised, "Not only would you be relieved of this problem, but your letters would be better formed."

"It isn't wrong to write with my left hand, Uncle," Sandry answered.

"Your script, my dear, is alike to that of a child. If you were to use your right hand, this disability would be resolved," he stated frankly, seating himself next to her. "I do not know what my nephew was thinking, to allow this error to progress unchecked."

"My handwriting isn't that bad!" Sandry exclaimed. "And it would be even worse if I tried to use my right hand," she added.

"If you were not so recalcitrant to the idea, Sandrilene," he chastised icily, "you would practice writing correctly, and soon your penmanship would be better than before."

"My handwriting is fine!" His niece protested, "it sets off my psyche! It's a part of who I am," she continued seriously, "if you make me change it, you'll be suppressing an essential part of my personality!"

The duke rolled his eyes. "Essential part of your personality, indeed," he scoffed. "I really do not know where you are getting all these maudlin ideas, Sandrilene."

"They're not maudlin," Sandry said indignantly, "I am a unique individual, Uncle, like everyone else, and I deserve to be respected for who I am."

"You will refrain from parroting this leftist drivel in my presence!" Vedris thundered.

"Would it still be leftist if I wrote it with my right hand?" Sandry couldn't help but ask.

"Do not mock me, my girl," her uncle ordered from between gritted teeth, "I am only attempting to promote your well being, in body and in spirit."

"My spirit is fine, Uncle."

"Is it, Sandrilene?" He demanded softly, "When was the last time you attended Temple services with me?"

Sandry looked down briefly. "I don't need-" she began, but the duke interrupted her.

"No, do no answer me; but reflect, Sandrilene, on the misdeed you have committed." He was silent for a moment. "Yet we digress, my dear, from the matter first set before us. I shall arrange for a scribe of the citadel to instruct you in penmanship."

"I'm not a child, Uncle," the girl said angrily, "I don't need writing lessons."

"You yourself, Sandrilene," he replied calmly, "have said that you cannot write well with the correct hand. If this is the case, then you must needs be tutored in it. If it is not the case, and you have lied to me-" his eyes blazed. "I will place my trust in you, my dear, however," he finished kindly, "it is my sincere hope you will not betray it."

"I don't think you understand, Uncle," Sandry said loudly and clearly. "I. Will. Not. Switch. Hands."

"Will you disobey me?" There was a dangerous tone in the prince's voice.

"I'll obey you," she answered, "as long as you don't give ridiculous commands."

"And you take it upon yourself to determine which of my directives are fit to be followed?"

"Yes." She knew it was the wrong answer as soon as she had said it.

"If citizen, Sandrilene," the duke began, "chose which laws to obey and which to flout, if a subject of Emelan took it upon himself to decide whether a statute was to be complied with, what would be the result?"

"It depends which law," Sandry argued, "some laws are bad. They shouldn't be followed."

"Socialist propaganda," the duke snapped. "It is the duty of the prince, my dear, to judge the suitability of the law and the place of the subject to comply to it. Likewise, it is not your place to determine the worth of the directives I give you, simply to follow them. Now, you will become proficient in writing with the correct hand."

"As you wish, Uncle," Sandry said meekly, but with a hint of a devilish grin. She picked up her pen and continued her letter--with her left hand.

"Insubordination!" Roared Vedris.

Sandry smiled, she was feeling particularly reckless today, "Get used to it, Uncle."