One more low bow to the kami in thanks, and Hitomi set off at a fast jog along the left path that led her north toward the potters. Now she must cross the land where raku was no longer merely a technique to create stoneware for the tea ceremony.
That craft, like her own, had grown over the centuries.
3
Hitomi crossed the land of the great raku masters in the night, moving with the darkness as though one with it. Her body could feel the pull, the need driving at her heart, gut, and loins.
The mystics of the potters had elevated their craft to such a height it could reshape not just one’s emotions, but their very being. Even passing by their kilns ripped at her soul. But her mental discipline let her cross through, though she ached with the battle of it, her mouth bitter with the taste
