With Amata's help Cypress had been able to find a couple books on pottery making from the library of the village. One of them was far too advanced for his meager reading skills but had lots of pictures that showed various steps in making pottery of different types which was helpful enough in and of itself. The other though, was more at his level and gave him the information he needed to get started. He read over the first of its chapters several times and felt confident that with the knowledge he had gleaned from its pages he would be able to replace the pot of his mothers that had been broken in the spring.
Rising with the morning sun, Cypress left the manor rather early, though not much more than usual. He had always preferred to make the most of the daylight hours. The book had been left behind as he wished to travel in his favored lupus form, but he was sure he would remember the important bits and rehearsed them over and over again in his mind as he made his way toward the southern portion of the lake. He didn't know if he would find clay there, but he figured it was a good enough place to start.
In time his nose lead him to a spot where the the richer top soil seemed thinner and after a bit of digging the earth turned hard and sticky with a much paler color than the black earth that had sat on top of it. After digging up a fair sized lump of the stuff he looked around. Seeing no one around he closed his eyes and focused on the change that would give him the hands he needed. Once on two legs the young man gathered up the clay and stomped a bit on the divet he had left behind in the ground. Hopefully no one would trip over it. Clay in hand he made his way back to the lake shore where he would try to get the clay mixed to a consistency that would be usable for his project.
Frustration quickly took over as his efforts seemed to only take the clay from one extreme to the other. He had started with only a small portion of what he had gathered. Which was a very good thing since his first attempt had turned the substance into something slight firmer than mud. After a few adjustments to the mixture it had become hard and crumbly. He seemed unable to find a happy middle ground.
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