Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
And I slap it. A lot.
Honestly? It just feels really good to pound on something and let out my frustrations. My furtive attempts at pottery-making have been going dreadfully, but I'm not surprised. Everything else seems to be a damned mess, so why not this, too? I'm determined not to give up, though. I fight back a yawn as I give the clay another smack. After all, I have nothing but time on this planet, and no one else knows what I'm doing. If it takes me three years to figure out how to make clay pottery, then it takes three years. I'm trying my best not to be impatient. Rome wasn't built in a day, I remind myself. I'm not going to make the perfect pot overnight.
But just once…I wish things would go my way. Just freaking once.
There’s a noise outside, and I lift my head, glancing toward the entrance. Even though it’s night and most everyone is sleeping, I still hear things from time to time. There’s the nocturnal animals of course—the beach crabs and scorpion-looking things get into anything left out—and the occasional birdy critter that wanders through.
I smack my clay again, because it's too wet, and do my best not to growl in frustration.
"Are you imagining my face?" calls an all-too familiar voice, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
"Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me," I hiss, clutching a dirty hand to my chest. My heart's hammering a mile a minute.
A moment later, A'tam ducks into my tiny, private cave. He's smiling, amused at my fright. Jerk. He knows he's a quiet, stealthy hunter—all of the islanders are, but Shadow Cat is on another level. He blends in with the shadows, and as I watch, his skin color ripples from a deep, dark shade into his normal pale blue. The camouflage is a dirty trick. He totally snuck up on me.
I scowl at him and go back to smacking my too-wet clay on the large, flat stone I'm using as a table. "What are you doing here?"
"I could not sleep and went for a walk. I picked up your scent near these caves and was worried, so I came to see if I was imagining things." He glances around my little workspace, a confused expression on his handsome face. "Why are you playing with dirt in the middle of the night?"
"It's not dirt. It's clay." I add a sprinkle of dried clay dust to my too-wet lump and start to work it again. "I want to try to make some pottery."
I brace myself for a litany of questions from A'tam. Why am I doing this in the middle of the night? What's pottery? Why do I want to do it? Why am I alone and hiding my work? Humans have so many different experiences from the islanders that even the smallest of tasks can bring up a thousand questions.
But A'tam only grunts and drops to a crouch beside me, watching me work. "My mother made pottery."
I turn to him, eyes wide. "She did? Do you know how?" A few of the sa-khui have old pots, Brooke and Liz have mentioned, and they use them for storage back at the Croatoan village. It's a skill that's been lost, though, and no one knows how to make them anymore, and no one bothers. Bone can be easily carved and there's always a supply of it, so I don't think anyone feels there's a need for actual pottery.
But…I want to try to make it. I want to prove to the others (and to myself) that I'm not completely useless. As time passes and we're on the beach for longer, we've settled into little cliques. People find what they're good at and focus in on those things. Everyone's finding their niche…except me.
Part of it is my own fault, of course. For a while, I snuck off with A'tam as much as I could for furtive make-out sessions. Then after our disastrous night together blew up in my face, I withdrew from the group and did stuff on my own. I didn't want to hang out around anyone—especially anyone that seemed utterly happy with being here. I felt like there was something wrong with me. To make matters worse, A'tam refuses to take no for an answer about our relationship, and we squabble about it. A lot.
Daily, really.
I've gotten a bit of a reputation around camp as a result. The islanders all think I'm a terrible tease and the girls think I'm drama. It's not undeserved, because I haven't known how to process things. It still makes me sad, though. I'm making mistake after mistake here in this new world, and my biggest one decides to sit directly across from me, peering at me through the low light of my tallow candles.