Obligatory disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin
Hands of Clay
Dipping his hand quickly into the water bowl, he lets the liquid drip onto the nearly perfect semicircle of clay.
He can feel the boy's eyes watching him.
Ignoring his audience, he places strong fingers upon the middle of the half-circle and, as the wheel continues to spin smoothly, pushes down and out to open it up.
The boy leans forward slightly (almost unnoticeably), fascinated.
Now he moistens his fingers again, placing a hand on each side of the newly created wall and drawing up. The walls rises with his movements. Now he has a dish, a bowl, a cup.
Absently, he wonders about the sudden storm that's trapped them inside this summer day. A month ago, he'd have welcomed the rest, the excuse to spend a day with clay upon the wheel and hands rough with earth. Now though, now he's not so sure. He's all too aware that something's different, that now his chance for solitude has been interrupted and will not reappear for a good few years at least. That, and his sleep tonight will probably be interrupted as well. These days, the only way to get the boy to sleep through the night is to work him to death during the day.
Can't do that when there's a downpour outside.
Experience guides his hands as he gives the neck of the expanded vase a gentle squeeze, narrowing the opening.
The boy is following his every movement with an eerie intensity.
In an half-autonomic state (he's done this so many times before) he picks up a piece of thin wire and finishes his task, balling up the excess clay. He picks up his newest sake jug-to-be and stands to go put it on the shelf to dry. As an afterthought, he hands the ball of wet clay to the boy wordlessly.
Small hands reach out and, after a slight hesitation, takes the offering.
He walks off to put his jug in a secure location. There are a few projects that he hasn't yet had the chance to fire or glaze, and now is as good a time as any.
A good two hours passes before the kiln's fired up to the right temperature and he's gotten his pieces inside. Returning to the main room, he's not too surprised that the boy hasn't moved from his previous position.
Violet eyes look up as he enters, and he notices the small hands covered in clay. They're holding something, and he walks closer before raising his eyebrows in an unspoken question.
The boy hands him his project for inspection.
It's probably supposed to be an animal of some sort. At the very least, it has four legs and a lump that can pass as a head. He frowns slightly and tilts it, deciding that maybe he can call it a forest cat.
For his first time, it really could have been worst.
The boy's watching him. He's always watching.
"It has to dry," he tells him. "When it is done, it will do well on the window ledge. Cats enjoy the sun. Wash your hands." He hands the boy the water bowl.
Red bangs cover violet eyes as the boy ducks his head and obeys, and he notices something. A timid tugging at the corner of soft lips. A crinkle in the eyes, an expression that looks…
He has to keep himself from mirroring the small smile of pleasure. Well. He'd actually been halfway convinced that the boy has long since forgotten how to smile.
He turns to put the cat up to dry, and silently thanks the rain.
fin
Yes, I know. Yet another young Kenshin story :) Chicken soup for my school-weary soul.
Sorry that this is inconsistent with the series. I didn't realize until after I wrote it that Hiko probably didn't start pottery until after Kenshin left, and at that point I was too happy with the story to scrap it. Ah well. We can call it semi-AU.
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