'Siri'
"Among other things? Mysterious. What do potters do when they aren't making vases and ashtrays?" Iris joked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at the man before pricking her finger on a splinter and returning her attention to her work. Some of the doll's body parts were beginning to take shape, but before she continued, she had to make sure she could fit them together later on. The prospect of starting over was daunting. "Be right back."
She went back to the woodcarver, and retrieved from her a hole saw, clumsily testing it out on one of the pieces she'd managed to whittle into the vague semblance of a thigh. She chuckled at the assumption in Amun's question. "No. But I figured it would be the best place to learn how to craft a message for the herald."
The truth was Iris had no patience for art. She imagined it might be something to get into in her old age, when her body loses most of its previous uses. It took some adjusting, but she managed to drill a hole down through the tiny thigh. "Do you host plays here?" She asked with renewed interest.
She went back to the woodcarver, and retrieved from her a hole saw, clumsily testing it out on one of the pieces she'd managed to whittle into the vague semblance of a thigh. She chuckled at the assumption in Amun's question. "No. But I figured it would be the best place to learn how to craft a message for the herald."
The truth was Iris had no patience for art. She imagined it might be something to get into in her old age, when her body loses most of its previous uses. It took some adjusting, but she managed to drill a hole down through the tiny thigh. "Do you host plays here?" She asked with renewed interest.
