He took hold of her wrist almost as soon as he had fingers enough to curl around it, and his grip was bruising as he clung to something as bones stretched and crunched into place. Only the eyes stayed the same, visible in the blind intervening moments between sharp spasms when he looked uncomprehendingly up at her for help she could not give. The spine was the worst: the vertebrae did not just disappear, but rather shortened in stomach-wrenching twists, as if they were folding up into themselves under his skin. He ran out of voice after that, and just curled up until it finally stopped, and the only sound was the scraping sound of his air as he tried to pull it back into his lungs.