“Am I? I have no family, no real skills, no permanent address. I’m basically a professional drifter.”
“That’s not how I see you.”
“How do you see me?”
I set down the clay and met her gaze. “I see s-s-someone who stepped into chaos yesterday and brought order. Someone who sees what people need and…provides it without being asked. A person who makes me feel less alone in a roo-roo-room full of people.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Hail?—”
“Trust takes time.”
“For you to trust me?”
“For you to trustme. Among orcs, trust-trust is built through shared hunts, battles fought side by side, nights sp-spent guarding each other’s sleep in the dangerous depths of our kingdom. Here on the surface, it’s different. Slower, more c-c-complex.” From what I’d seen, humans built trust through words and small gestures accumulated over time. I was learning to navigate that difference, to be patient in a way my ancestors never had to be.
I moved close enough to see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “You’re scared of something. Or someone. And until you feel s-s-safe enough to tell me what that is, we’re going to keep having conversations where one of us is-is holding back.”
She stared at me, and I could see the war playing out on her face. The desire to confide in someone battling with whatever fear kept her secrets locked away.
“You want me to trust you,” she said.
“I want you to feel s-safe enough to trust me. There’s a difference.”
“And if I never get there?”
The question carried so much pain that it was all I could do to breathe. “Then I’ll wait until you do.”
“What if it takes a long time?”
“I’m not go-go-going anywhere, Allie. This is my home, my life. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”
My simple honesty seemed to surprise her. She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then closed it again.
Before either of us could figure out what might come next, voices outside announced the arrival of our afternoon pottery group. Through the open barn doors, I could see tourists gathering, chatting about what they wanted to create.
“Showtime,” Allie said, and I was grateful for the interruption. Heavy conversations were never easy for me.
“Ready to help me not-not-not embarrass myself in front of strangers?” I asked.
“Always.”
We shifted into preparation mode, arranging the rest of our supplies while tourists filed into the barn. Fifteen people, a good-sized group, but manageable with both of us working together.
“Welcome to the pottery barn,” I said when the ones in the front paused, glancing around. Having Allie beside me would make everything easier. I was sure of it. “Please, ta-ta-take a place at a workstation. There…will be enough.” Once they’d settled, I continued. “Today we’re going to work on basic bowl shapes, and my-my-my assistant Allie will help anyone who gets stuck.”
The word assistant felt inadequate. Partner, maybe, or teammate. But assistant would do for now.
The next two hours flew by in a blur of clay and laughter. I demonstrated the basic techniques in the front of the room while Allie moved through the crowd like she’d been teaching pottery for years. She helped a little boy with his lopsided bowl, showing him how to reshape the side without taking over the project. When an elderly woman couldn’t get her clay to work as it should, Allie patiently guided her through the process three times until it was smoothing nicely and taking shape under the woman’s touch.
I watched her all the time, admiring the way she interacted with people. She had a gift for making everyone feel capable, like their struggles were normal and easy to overcome. She even did that with me.
“You’re a natural teacher,” I told her during a break while tourists went to the bathroom in the back or ran to the bakery for a snack.
“I like helping people figure things out.” She finished drying her hands at the sink and turned. “There’s something satisfying about seeing people succeed at something they thought was impossible.”
“Is that what drew you to pottery, the satisfaction of s-success?”
She considered the question, watching a teenage girl adding a design to the outside of her small bowl. This one had opted to stay and work rather than take a break. “I think it’s more about creating something beautiful from an ordinary item. Taking a lump of clay and turning it into something that matters.”
