Dirt in the wrong hands

It had taken some time to realise her ambition. What had started as a fire pit outside their little house had take on another purpose as she built up the area around it with stones she had collected from the nearby grove. The slurry of mud that Otis had packed between the stones helped to contain the heat and a large piece of slate protected the small enclosed space from the flames, but radiated the heat from the flames beneath. She had used one of the jars from the witches hut as a guide as she shaped the clay with her paws. It certainly wasn’t anything to write home about, her paws poorly suited to the task, but with Otis adding the finishing touches to her piece and leaving it to air dry for a while, it was time to see if her makeshift kiln would work as she hoped it would.

She had left the fire to burn down to embers overnight and removed the dried sheet of bark she had set as a door with some trepidation, but inside, and now cool to the touch, her little jar was hard and dry. Sedna set it to the side as she set out clay for each of her children that might take an interest, and some extra besides, just in case anyone else wanted to join them. She called to the pack, inviting any who might be interested in joining her and began to work her own allocation of clay, hoping that others wouldn’t feel that they had to copy her own design. She was sure they could make all sorts of useful things with these blank blocks of endless potential.

“Speech”