Clay Pots

Ivy nodded along as his uncle spoke, prodding at the clay lump with his nose and paws. Poking, pulling, shaping, all of it. The texture was weird, and he wasn't sure that he liked it against his nose and paws, but it was also pretty fun. Álarr, for his part, was damn near a saint-- answering the incessant questions of Ivy (and the others, too) with grace... how did he manage it?

The pup narrowed his eyes to get a better look at what the older man was doing with his paws. Smoothing. As Ivy went to smooth the edges of his own bowl in a similar fashion, he managed to smoosh one edge in. A soft growl of frustration in his throat, but of course it was his own damn fault. Still. He's still and a little cranky as he coaxes the raggedy edge back into place. It was working yes, but why was he so bad at it? Well, what's a little self doubt to add some sparkle to his crafting project. Still, Ulmaria's question of building fires has Ivy's head snapping up in excitement. "Yeah, I wanna watch, and I wanna build fires too! Big ones!" The excitement shone through from the pup, eyes glimmering.

Fire is cool, after all.

"Speech"