Chapter 2
Azariyah, Royal City of Maween
Isika sat at the pottery wheel, wrapping both hands around the wet lump of clay in front of her. She pressed down on the clay to make a platform, moving the wheel's pedal with her foot to keep it spinning.
"Perfect," said Tomas, the master potter. "Now pull your elbows in to center it."
She did as he told her, anchoring her elbows beside her to bring greater stability to her arms. The clay followed her wish and became a perfectly centered cone on the wheel. She felt a flash of satisfaction as she watched her hands, black against the light clay, which felt almost alive as she worked with it.
"Make your indent," Tomas said. He was about the same age as Isika's Auntie Teru, gray hair showing at his temples. One day she had asked him how many pots
