“The old lady reared back and threw the pot, twisting her short, wide frame as much as her old body would allow. The pot flew into the wind, cutting it while at the same time catching it inside the cylinder. Artemis took off running; not hesitating, she watched it while she ran. She watched the shimmering pot sparkle as it caught the last moment of sunlight. Its handles whistled as it spun. It soared between a grouping of cottonwood trees... the rolling pot made a sound like ancient music as it hopped along, hitting off the rocks and sticks, creating musical notes that were surprisingly pure and clean to Artemis’s ears.”

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