The old man smacked Alfred on his shoulder and laughed. "Hahaha! Good! Good!"
Alfred's face twisted in pain, yet he couldn't muster the courage to break the hearty mood of the Elder; thus, he endured.
"So, what should we do first?" Elder Ahote's expression changed into seriousness as if the things they were about to talk about were a matter of utmost importance.
He sighed internally. 'Will I ever get used to this unpredictability?'
Smiling, he answered with sincerity. "First, we need a few things: water, a lot of firewood, and a place to start a big fire."
The bald Elder touched his rough chin and nodded. "Care to elaborate?"
"Of course. Water is a critical ingredient. It's used to form or shape the clay into what we desire, so it's impossible to create pottery without it. Firewood is not really a must-have; if we can find something more flammable than it, then it would be better. Fire… is a little harder to explain. I think it's better if I explain it when we are in the actual step."
The bulky old man stood and went outside, the bowl filled with clay soil in tow.
Perplexed, Alfred stayed seated for a while before Elder Ahote looked back and questioned.
"What are you waiting for? If we have to start a big fire, it is better to do it outside."
Realizing the logic, Alfred followed in a hurry.
The moment they exited, Elder Ahote didn't hesitate to order the man assigned to guard Alfred. "Go and fetch us a shell of water."
He glanced at the old man with narrowed eyes.
'A shell of water? Is that a secret code for something?'
He wanted to ask, but he resisted, not wanting to spoil the surprise.
The green-eyed Elder placed the wooden bowl on the ground and started collecting wood that cluttered the vicinity of his home.
Seeing this, Alfred did the same. Fortunately, there was plenty of scrap wood; thus, they didn't have to look for it and waste more time.
A while later, the guard returned, lugging a massive turtle shell—its curved back wide enough to hold an entire tub's worth of water. After reporting to the Elder, the guard placed the shell down and went back to his post.
Alfred stared at it, speechless.
'What kind of turtle has a shell the size of a small bathtub?'
Before he could process the curious item, the bald Elder woke him up from his daze.
"Young Alfred, what should we do next?"
Not having enough time to quench his curiosity, Alfred set the question aside and answered the Elder. "Ah, yes, we just have to mix the clay soil and water together until the texture becomes suitable for shaping. Here, let me show you."
Without further ado, Alfred scooped a handful of water and poured it into the clay. Then, he grabbed the wet clay and mixed it well with his hands. Soon, he shaped it into a ball the size of a fist and then presented it to the Elder.
"Similar to this. Of course, this is not pottery; it is only an example to give you an idea. Next, I will try to shape the clay into a pot."
As he finished his sentence, Alfred poured handfuls of water into the wooden bowl, enough to copy the texture of his sample. Carefully, he molded multiple clays into long circular shapes, then, after creating a bunch of them, he stacked them on top of each other while merging them by sprinkling them with more water, and slowly modeled a pot.
When he was done, he finally noticed an ever-growing murmur in the surroundings, and a crowd formed around them, watching him work in curiosity.
Elder Ahote didn't bother talking as he leaned closer to the finished product, observing it with intense focus.
"What an odd shape." The old man murmured. "This is my first time seeing something like this. It looks great and appears practical, but I do not believe this thing can hold even a small amount of water before it crumbles."
"Good observation, Elder." Alfred grinned, purposely increasing his voice so the people could hear him talk. "For now, the pot seems too soft to hold anything, but this is where the technique called baking is a must."
Elder Ahote's eyes brightened. "Oh, another technique! Quick explained it in detail!"
Hearing the exclamation of their Elder, the tribesmen's gossip intensified, seeming interested in what Alfred would do.
Seeing his desired outcome steadily coming to a realization, Alfred widened his smile. "I will explain it, but first we have to create a big fire—the hotter the better."
Without an ounce of delay, Elder Ahote sprang into action. In no time, a smoldering fire crackled outside his home.
The fire was the size of a small child, hot enough to make someone sweat within mere seconds. Its orange body swayed with the wind, and the burning scent spread through the air.
"Good enough?" The Elder inquired while his arms were folded across his chest.
Alfred nodded his head. "Thank you." Without clarifying anything, he put the still-wet, newly shaped pot inside the raging flame.
The crowd gasped at the sight. Some whispered loud enough that he could hear it.
"Was the outsider crazy? Why would he create something only to destroy it?"
"I knew it; this is a waste of time. Why did I even bother?"
"What sort of stupidity am I witnessing?"
Even the bulky Elder couldn't help but utter his opinion. "Did I miss something? Was the pot not to your liking?"
Alfred grinned, showing his teeth. "Trust me, Elder, you will be interested after waiting for a few minutes."
Therefore, that was what they did: they waited.
A lot of tribesmen gave up and left; some lasted for a bit longer, but in the end, they chose to do the same. But even then, a few still decided to wait and see what would happen.
Anticipation built up, with it, impatience.
"How long wil-"
Before a voice from the crowd finished the sentence, Alfred moved, taking out the pot glowing in bright red using two sticks.
"What is that? What happened to the clay?" Elder asked, his eyebrows rising.
The people were surprised, walking closer to get a better view.
"The technique called baking is a way to transform the clay into a hard, durable material by permanently bonding the clay together, allowing it to hold its shape and be used as a functional vessel; essentially, baking a pot makes it strong and watertight by hardening the clay through high heat."
Alfred explained with a hint of pride, but the blank stares around him made him hesitate. He cleared his throat. "Uh… fire makes the clay hard."
The people looked at each other, nodded, and were awed simultaneously.
The Elder, who couldn't resist the temptation, jumped into action, scanning every nook and cranny of the hardened clay. "This is amazing! I have never encountered this kind of unimaginable technique! The softness disappears by just introducing it to a fire! How can someone discover these sorts of things?!
After a while, the pot displayed its true color: brown with smudges of blackness due to the charcoal. The Elder lifted it, weighed it in his hand, tapped it with his finger, smelled it, and more.
Upon satisfying his curiosity, the Elder handed the pot to Alfred, his lips reaching both ears. "What an amazing display."
Alfred reciprocated the gesture and accepted the item. Like what the Elder did, he too analyzed it.
His smile disappeared after a deliberate examination.
"What? Is there something wrong?" The old man asked, leaning closer and eyeing the spot Alfred was looking at.
"Yes, it has too many cracks, and the shape is deformed," he answered while his attention was still on the pot.
"Hahaha! Is that all? You do not need to worry; imperfection means there is room for improvement. Now that I get to see the procedure, we can just repeat it until we get it right," Elder Ahote encouraged while slapping Alfred on his back.
He awkwardly laughed, not knowing how to inform the old man not to hit him too hard.
"No time to waste." The green-eyed Elder turned to the guard once again and commanded. "Go into the river, and grab me more of this soil. Bring more people with you; the more you can bring back, the better."
The guard bowed and left without a word.
With the remaining clay, the two reenact the procedure of how to make a pot several times, with slightly different adjustments to every failure, enhancing the success rate.
A few hours later, Alfred and Elder Ahote scanned the final piece they had created. The pot still had cracks, but not as many as before, and the shape only had a slight deformation. The pot was a bit heavier but, in exchange, turned sturdier, while the surface, which was at first rough now smoother with almost no small bumps.
"We just need a little more, and I am sure we will finally achieve our goal," Elder Ahote muttered.
Alfred nodded vigorously. "I agree. What do you think we should change? The heat, the period of baking, or the amount of water?"
The bald Elder shook his head. "What we need to do now is rest. Even though I want to continue, it is already getting dark, and we are running out of wood. It is better if we carry on tomorrow."
Alfred finally noticed the creeping darkness in the surroundings. He was so focused that he couldn't even realize the dispersing of the crowd.
Then something hit him.
"Oh, crap! I forgot about Aponi!" He looked at the Elder with panicked eyes and hastily muttered. "Sorry, Elder Ahote. I have to go." With that, Alfred ran, or at least he tried, to where his tent was.