5. Allie #2
“I was excited to see my first real p-p-pot.” He shook his head, his smile going reminiscent. “I opened the kiln while it was still ho-hot. It cracked. My father wasn’t hap-hap-happy about the wasted clay.”
“Was he the one who taught you pottery?”
Hail’s expression shifted. “No. I taught myself, mostly. My father thought pottery was…frivolous. Not practical enough for orc males. Clay is for…building. Not art.”
I suspected the last bit of his statement came directly from his father, not Hail. He didn’t say more, and I didn’t push. Many had complicated relationships with their parents.
“What now?” I asked, stepping back.
“Now we work on other things while we wai-wait.”
He led me to his personal workspace, where several pieces in various stages of completion sat waiting for attention. I watched him settle at his pottery wheel with a fresh ball of clay, his whole body relaxing as he centered it with his thumbs.
The transformation was remarkable. All the nervous energy that made him stutter and fidget disappeared when he touched clay. His movements became fluid and sure, like he was speaking a language only he and the earth understood.
“Can you show me how you do that thing with the glaze?” I asked when he’d finished one piece and carefully set it to the side to rest. “The copper effect you told me about yesterday?”
His face lit up. “You want to learn?”
“I do.”
For the next hour, Hail walked me through his techniques, his hands guiding mine as we mixed colors and tested effects on sample tiles. He was a natural teacher when he forgot to be nervous, patient and encouraging even when I made rookie mistakes.
“The copper carbonate is-is tricky,” he said as I stirred a batch of glaze that looked like muddy water. “Too much oxygen in the firing and it turns red. Not enough and you g-g-get this beautiful green-blue shift.”
“How do you control the oxygen?”
“Different firing techniques. Electric ki-kilns give you one effect, gas kilns another. I’ve been experimenting with reduction firing lately.” He pulled out a mug that shifted from deep green to brilliant blue as he turned it in the light. “This one came out better than I hoped.”
I was mesmerized by his hand movements that were strong and gentle at the same time. He could coax beauty from ordinary materials with a skill that took my breath away. I found myself watching his fingers shape clay into flowing curves, his total focus on the work making him even more attractive.
“You’re getting the ha…ng of it,” he said as I managed to create a glaze sample that didn’t look like a complete disaster.
“I have a good teacher.”
He ducked his head, but I caught his pleased smile.
We worked side by side after that, him creating a new vase while I practiced basic techniques on scraps of clay. Tressa dozed in her corner, occasionally lifting her head to check on us before settling back down.
“Tell me about the town,” I said as I attempted to center clay on a practice wheel. I was so excited to give this a try. “How long have you and your brothers been here?”
“About eight months now.” Hail’s hands never paused in their work, pulling up the walls of his vase with smooth, even pressure. “We bought the whole valley and b-built Lonesome Creek from the ground up.”
“That’s incredible. Why here?”
“Dungar, my oldest brother, had this idea about orcs in-integrating with surface society. He thought tourism…mi-might be a way to do it gradually and let pe-pe-people get used to us.” Hail’s voice carried pride and affection.
“Plus, the natural light up here is amazing for pottery. I could never get colors like this in the orc-orc kingdom.”
“What’s it like there?” I’d read that humans were not allowed to travel there unless they were true mates to the orcs, and that made sense. They weren’t interested in introducing human settlement, tourism, or in changing their current way of life.
He shaped the rim of his vase with care before speaking. “It’s beautiful in its own way, but I love the s-sky. The way li-li-light changes throughout the day.”
I could hear that love in his voice, see it in the way he positioned his workspace to catch the midday sun.
After we’d worked in silence for a while, Hail stepped outside and returned with a small purple wildflower.
“I thought you might like this,” he said shyly, holding it out to me.
The simple gesture hit me square in the chest.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, tucking it behind my ear. “Thank you.”
The soft look in his eyes made my heart flutter. “It grows wild near the sorhox pasture. I thought… I thought you might like it.”
My face grew hot. Nobody had ever done anything like this for me before.
“That’s very nice of you, Hail. I appreciate it.”
He went back to his pottery, but I caught him stealing glances at me throughout the morning. Each time our eyes met, he’d smile and look away, like he couldn’t quite believe I was here working beside him.
I felt safer here in this pottery barn than I had anywhere in months. Valued in a way I’d almost forgotten was possible. The work was satisfying, the company was better than I’d dared hope for, and for the first time in forever, I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder.
Maybe I could build something here. I’d give almost anything to be able to finally stop running and live again.
My phone rang from inside my purse, the sound cutting through the peaceful air like a knife.
I froze, my hands going still on the clay I’d been shaping. Gulping, I stared at my purse like it contained a bomb. Why hadn’t I left it off? It wasn’t as if I was hoping anyone would call.
“Are you going to answer it?” Hail glanced between me and the still-ringing phone.
“No,” I barked, then softened my tone. “It’s not important.”
The ringing stopped, but the damage was done. My newfound happy feeling had evaporated, replaced by the familiar knot of fear in my belly.
Hail watched me with concern, clearly wanting to ask questions I couldn’t answer.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
We got back to work, but my happy feeling was shot. My eyes kept stinking with tears. I refused to let them fall.
Hail kept frowning my way. I was grateful he didn’t ask questions I didn’t dare answer.
And I hated that I might’ve brought my troubles to this cute town along with me.
Finally, I shoved aside my anxiety and focused on what I was doing. There was something soothing about working with clay, about mixing ingredients to create the perfect glaze.
Until the phone started ringing again.