13th of Spring 510
It was just a little cottage. There wasn’t much special about it. If one had a home to write to about this living space, they wouldn’t. Fortunately for the owner of this space, she didn’t have a home to write back to. The cottage was now her home, purposefully away from any of the places a possible tent could arise or pop up.
Every morning she would rise with the sun, just some sort of natural rhythm she’d fallen into as a child. She would drag her trunk filled with nothing out in front of her home. Then would come her table. Then her chair. All of these things would have to be cleaned in order for her to take her evening meal, but she didn’t mind too much. Typically she just sat on the ground to eat since no one was around to find her strange or exotic.
Sometimes she would roll up her sleeves and uncover one of the two barrels in front of her house. She would scoop out the watered-down clay, the slip, and spread it out onto the pieces of linen she had lying out along the ground.
Other times she would be separating the worthless rocks from the clay she was processing to make it usable.
Most of the time, though, in the middle of the day, she would sit in her chair rolling out coils from her perfected clay. She would wrap them into shapes and carefully smooth out walls, keeping mind to avoid air bubbles – Lest the vessel she was making explode in the heat of the fire.
Or she would paint. Spirals. Triangles. Little rudimentary people. Singing. Dancing. Maybe a cow or a camel. Sometimes a goat. These were the things of her old world, but she had yet to learn how to depict things from her new one.
A bowl here or a pitcher there – She placed them in what she thought was an attractive arrangement for those passing by to look at. Sometimes they spread out onto the ground in front of her trunk, but most of the time her inventory only seemed to stay on top of her trunk.
If someone came by to look or talk, she’d acknowledge them. There were times when she actually managed to stop a person coming by, convincing them to buy something. But for the most part she simply worked, letting her mind wander to this and that until the next person wandered by.
That was what she was doing – Working quietly in the midday sun, seeming to pay no mind to the weather or temperature.