Reave sat quietly on the desert bluff, listening to the soft rush of the wind as she worked. The clay spun slowly under her hands, red and soft as it revolved, such a sharp contrast to the solid chrome of her fingers. She reached into the pot of water beside her, wetting her hands again before pressing them to the clay once more. Around it went once more, and creation’s dance continued.

“Hello Reave,” the Moon God said.

“Hey Mooney,” she slid her hands up, shaping the neck of the pot. “It’s been a while.”

“That it has,” He drifted up beside her, calling a stool forth from the earth, as was his wont. Despite not needing it, he sat himself upon it and watched her work.

“How are things?” She asked, fingers moving up to the rim, beginning to smooth it. “Life going well?”

“More or less,” he shrugged. “Heard back from old number one recently.”

“Oh, really?” she asked. “How’s he doing these days?”

“Good! Still curating the museum.” He brightened. “He actually might be swinging through in a few years, if you’d like to visit.”

“Has he added any new exhibits?” She asked, and he wilted a bit.

“No, not as such. Not a lot going on that really merits an addition to the collection.” He gave a soft laugh. “I suppose that’s not a bad thing though.”

“Nope,” she slow the spin for a minute, then sped it back up, deciding the neck needed to be a dash thinner. “These have been good years.”

“That they have,” He sighed. “How goes the pottery?’

“It’s been good,” She said, slowing the spin as she returned to the base. “You always find the best clay.”

“Thank you, I try,” he said. “Nothing more frustrating than sub par materials.”

“I don’t know,” she pressed a little too hard, leaving a groove, then decided she liked it and continued it around the pot. “The imperfections add something, sometimes.”

He shook his head. “I could never stand them. If I ever found grains or granules I’d start the whole thing over.”

“Doesn’t sound very productive,” she said.

“But I enjoy it more,” he said. “And isn’t that the point?”

“I suppose so,” she let the gentle scraping of the pottery wheel take over, and the Moon God did the same.

He would do that sometimes, just come by and watch. She never could tell if it was all because of some elaborate, eldritch scheme, or that he sincerely just liked to come and see. After the first few years, however, she realized she didn’t really care. It was nice to have an audience, whatever the reason.

As the sun crept across the sky, she slowly finished the pot. That was something she liked about pottery, it had a beginning and an end. You didn’t have all eternity to make the thing. Even with water, the clay would eventually set and dry, or your limbs would grow tired, or any of a hundred different things. You had your time creating the work, and then it was done. Over. Complete.

“Is it done?” He asked, and she nodded.

“Yeah, I think so,” she let the spinning slow to a stop. “I think this one is ready for the kiln.”

“It’s always a good feeling, isn’t it?” he said, watching her move the pot over to the oven.

“Yes, it is.” She slid the pot inside, and closed the door, sitting down to wait once more. “There’s a catharsis to the end of a thing.”

“Sometimes,” he said, watching the oven along with her. “I always found it a little sad though.”

“Even then,” she said. “There’s a peace to the finality of it. Good or bad, it’s over.”

“True, I suppose,” he sighed. “You been thinking about that a lot?”

“For a long time,” she leaned back and looked up at the blue green globe in the sky. “For a long, long time.”

“You know you’re not a pot,” he said, following her gaze. “Right?”

“I think I’d like to be a pot,” she smiled. “I’ve found I like them quite a bit.”

He chuckled softly. “I rather enjoy pizza too, doesn’t mean I am one.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” she said.

“...yeah, I do.” He sighed. “I thought you might say that.”

“Only thought?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Hope springs eternal.”

“So it does.” She stood up. “What do you say we take a walk?”

He glanced at her. “Why?”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

She smiled. “Old times sake. I want to stretch my legs a little.”

“Alright,” he rose and followed her, drifting along as she lightly hopped down onto the shifting sand.

Her leg actuators compensated easily. They’d been refurbished to the point of customization at this point, a hundred different brands from a dozen different companies, and a few even made by hand. There likely wasn’t a single original part left in them anymore, those initial parts lost one by one, some on the battlefield, some in repair shops. Yet they remained hers, just like the rest of herself.

“Why do you keep this place so dry?” She asked, setting out to the east today. “I always figured it was because you liked it, but the other day I realized I never actually asked.”

“You guessed right,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I find it peaceful. You live long enough, and even plants start to seem vigorous. It’s nice to have a place that just stays.”

“Never mind the dunes change every day,” she said.

“But there are always dunes,” He replied. “The sun, the sand, the wind. Always and forever. Mountains crumble, rivers cut deep and dry up, even the air itself can boil away.” He reached down and brushed the sand. “The desert always stays.”

“Is that why you don’t decorate?” She cast her gaze along the endless, flat sands. “Throw in a few pyramids, an obelisk or two? Or maybe a fountain, I know you love being contrary like that.”

“Nah,” he shook his head, his gaze following hers. “It defeats the point. Buildings… stop being buildings after a while. They turn into ruins, and that’s just depressing.” He sighed. “Even if you keep them up, you lose little bits here and there, and after a while you just can’t hide that loss.”

“No, you can’t.” She stared down at her legs. “I think I get what you mean. It’s like, you lose the essence of a thing after a while. Like you keep replacing it but after a while you’re just going through the motions.”

“Yeah, exactly like that.” He glanced at her, and shook his head. “That’s why I like the desert. It feels… immune.”

“Immune?” She asked.

“Yeah,” he traced a tendril through the dirt, coming up with sand. “The sand doesn’t get less sandy. You don’t get obelisks and pyramids suddenly rising out of the desert. You might get forests and rivers and oceans, but they all go away, and the desert returns. It’s always there, and it’s always a desert.”

“You find that comforting?” She asked.

“I do,” he said. “Don’t you?”

“I like forests, myself,” she said. “They’re like pots. There’s a clear beginning, middle, and end. There’s a journey to follow.”

“They can be fun to watch,” he said. “But I could never build a home there.”

“To each their own,” she took a deep breath. “I’d love to see the forests again.”

“I thought you might,” he said.

The offer sat unspoken for several hours.

“When are you going to ask?” she finally said.

“When you force me to,” he sighed. “So now, I guess.”

“What’s the job?” She turned her gaze to the sky, a few ideas rolling through her head.

“Taking a few folks home for the weekend,” he said. “Nothing huge.”

“So you say,” she said. “So what don’t you say, Moony?”

“I need things to go wrong,” he said. “Very wrong.”

“I see,” she smiled a bit. “I can do wrong. Style or no style?”

“All the style you can manage,” he glanced at her, his eternal smile faded to almost nothing. “You know I wouldn’t ask you to play the chump.”

“I appreciate that,” she rolled her shoulders, and gave him a pat on the head. “The full ten yards? Cackling, swearing, threats of mass destruction?”

“If you could,” He said, almost no heart in the words.

“Who’s the beneficiary?” she said. “If I can ask?”

He snorted. “The usual. Kid wants to play hero. Win the prince, destroy her enemies, avenge her secretly bruised pride.”

“You seem awfully disinterested for your life’s passion,” she said. “Not quite the desert lifestyle you’d hoped for?”

“Ahhhh…” He pulled out his eye, briefly gazing at himself before dusting it off and replacing it. “Maybe its more of a forest than I thought.”

“Well, maybe you should give the forest a shot,” she smiled at him. “You might like it.”

He was silent a moment, then looked at her, sad for the first time in a long time. “That’s kind of the fear.”

She reached out, and gently pulled him into a hug. “Thanks, you know, for everything.”

“You sure you don’t want someone else to do it?” He asked.

She shook her head. “You know better than that, or you wouldn’t have come today.”

“True enough,” he said.

“Come on,” she said, breaking the hug. “Pot’s probably just about done. Besides, I want you to have it.”

He blinked at her, beginning to follow. “What will I do with it?”

She smiled. “Plant a tree in it. For me.”

He swallowed, and forced a smile. “Sure thing.”

Together, they left the desert in silence.