Mina

The Rain pours down while I shovel wet clay into the wagon. The rain season is beginning and this is probably going to be the last day we can get clay for the next four months. I am already standing ankle deep in water and soon the rivers will swell, the nearby swamp will spread, and the clay will be beneath waist deep water. The water can be worked around, but all the nasties that will come with it from the swamp are not to be taken lightly. Ideally we would have collected the clay days ago, but many unfortunate events came together and this is the earliest we managed to borrow a proper cart and claw. Even this close to the swamps there aren't many of the big komodo lizards to go around, and other pack animals would just get stuck in the mud.

"I hail thee fellow citizen!" I hear a boisterous voice cutting clearly though the sound of pelting rain.

I look up to see a large man stomping towards me through knee deep mud.

"Glorious day to you." he shouts, a large smile on his face as he reaches me and my borrowed cart.

"Hello. What are you doing here?" I respond puzzled. I have never seen him before, but rumor has it a giant is going to open a shop in the central square. Is this him?

He clenches his fist in front of his chest and takes a deep breath, like he is preparing to give an important speech. Then, he speaks in a deep and powerful voice: "I am new to this quaint little town and by asking about I learned that there is clay in this direction. Can you perhaps direct me further?" He smiles brightly. I am about to respond, but he suddenly interrupts me with a thoughtful look. "I apologize, let me try again!" He takes another deep breath and smiles even brighter than before. "I am looking for clay. Do you know where some might be?"

I spend a moment to stare at him while trying to make sense of his odd behavior. I look down at his knees, barely above the clay, and state the obvious. "You are standing in it."

"Wonderful!" He exclaims before turning more calm and polite. "Are you collecting some yourself?"

I slowly answer "yes" while considering him. He is clearly lacking some common sense, and he looks quite young. He might be a sheltered noble, but then why is he out here in the rain and mud?

"Then please instruct me. Do I just pick up the clay and carry it with me?" He asks, clearly not understanding physical labor.

I decide I have to be thorough and patiently explain to him: "Technically yes, but the clay is quite loose and heavy. Without a shovel and something to hold the clay in, you won't be able to take much with you. You will need a cart with a komodo, like the one I have, to be able to take a lot. If you only need a little you could carry some in a basket, but the clay is currently holding a lot of water" I gesture to the water covering the ground "and is very heavy." He looks completely undaunted by what I am saying.

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"Thank you, you have been most helpful! Here, let me help you load your cart in return." Saying so he bends down and grabs towards the ground as if he is picking up a large crate. I shake my head in exasperation, wondering exactly how poorly this will go. He then stands back up holding a massive piece of clay larger than his own torso. He turns towards the cart, smiles at me with a little nod, and places the clay in the cart.

Within a minute he fills the cart with clay, showing no difficulty in doing so. I can't even react. The clay does not deform or crumble within his hands and the clay does not stick to his body. I close my open mouth and glance down at myself. I am covered in clay and mud. I look back towards him. He stands there with a final lump of clay upon his shoulder, his free arm and torso pristine and clean, free of any clay. "Well then, it has been nice meeting such a lovely young woman, but I will head back now. The art of pottery should not have wait." Saying so he stomps of. Walking though the mud as quickly as any would walk on a good road. I spend some time staring dumbfound after him.

Eventually I look to where he took the clay. I poke my shovel about and find the large holes. I dig around a few minutes with my shovel, but I can't find any clay as firm as what he collected. Looking into the cart the clay is all one uniform sludge, exactly what I have been shoveling myself.

Filled with confusion I start moving the planks I am standing on to get to the front of the cart. On my way home I ponder on this man and what he is. He must be some kind of master. They can do things that are normally impossible. I don't know much about them, being so far on the fringe of civilization. Even the nasties from the swamp rarely warrant true masters to be dealt with. And when they do, the masters that come to deal with them don't usually visit the town.

I think about the things he said. He was so cheerful and self confident, but strangely ignorant about clay when he claimed to be a potter... Well he never claimed to be a potter, so maybe he simply knows one. That would make the most sense. A man that large being something as ordinary as a potter would be strange anyway.

While my thoughts wander I realize something. We didn't exchange names. He just called me a 'lovely young woman' and left. I feel a fluttering in my chest and a pit in my stomach. I am not lovely, and at 24 years of age I am not very young either. His lie hurts, but it was still nice to hear the compliment.