“Disaster.” He grinned. “I learned that the har-hard way when I first started. Lost an entire kiln load. I was impatient.”
“We all learn the hard way, right?”
“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.
