Isabella and Ophelia returned to their clay pit, and as expected, it was still too wet. Isabella frowned, poking at the mushy surface with a finger. "Yep. This is soup," she muttered.
Ophelia copied her and poked it too. "It feels slimy," she giggled.
"That's because it's not ready yet," Isabella sighed. "We'll wait a little longer."
As they settled in to wait, Shelia suddenly appeared, her wild curls bouncing as she approached.
"Hey, Shelia!" Isabella greeted, while Ophelia practically vibrated with excitement.
"Isabella is about to make pots!" Ophelia blurted out, clapping her hands.
Shelia's eyes widened, and then, she gasped dramatically. "You mean… those things you talked about before? The ones that will make meat taste even better?!"
"Uh… yeah," Isabella chuckled nervously, feeling the weight of their expectations. She hadn't even started yet, and they were already looking at her like she was about to summon the gods.
