Free Eden by Keith; Korman Page B

… then narrow streets and the houses so close together, ramps and gangways sprang from roof to roof. Just like home.
    The companions and the animals stopped at the shop of a potter, his house attached to a shed. On shelves sat row upon row of fired vessels. The potter’s wheel was still, a damp cloth over a lump of clay, and in the depths of the dark a cold kiln no ember burned.
    The jostling lambs, the dog and the donkey crowded together in the street. Eden stood under Samson’s broad belly to keep from getting stepped on. One of the lambs bumped into a clay pot by the potter’s doorstep, tipping it over. The crack of broken clay rang off the street stones.
    â€œWe’ll have to pay for that!” Eden snapped at the lambs. “Behave yourselves! No pushing!”
    The lambs hung their heads, ashamed, while the companions rushed to pick up the broken pot shards. They looked to Judas in dismay and feared for the meager coins in their common purse. Clay pots weren’t free; how could they afford this? Such a pot would cost more than a few coppers.
    Suspicious eyes stared out at them from half-open doors and windows along the street, but no voice rose in anger from inside the potter’s house.
    Two small candles burned within.
    A child lay on a low bed. Her father, the potter, stood in a dark corner, while her mother knelt by the bedside. The woman didn’t look up but quietly wrung her hands and grasped the wooden leg of the bed, as if by stroking the bed’s leg the child might come alive again. Eden saw a little girl, her eyes rolled upwards showing the whites. At her feet curled another dog, not unlike Eden except you could see the creature’s eyes alert, watching for anyone’s approach.
    The companions’ curious faces crowded at the door.
    The watchful dog uncurled, bared its lips, snarling, “Get away …”
    Then lay across the child’s legs, guarding her.
    The child’s father came out of the shadow and went to the door where the companion called Judas offered him coins from the common purse for the broken clay pot. At first the potter stared at the open palm, but didn’t seem to understand what the coins were for, or didn’t care. Instead, the potter folded Judas’ fingers closed, imploring:
    â€œPlease, please ask your master,” the potter whispered in a broken voice. “Ask him for me. I beg you. Ask him. There must be something he can do.”
    Judas listened carefully as the father told how his child had hurt herself, and then tucked the purse in his belt and went to where their master stood in the street. Eden’s sharp ears heard every word.
    â€œThe little girl and the dog were running with the other children, from house to house as they always do. One of the gangways slipped from a roof. She and the dog fell into a hay cart. She fell with the dog clutched in her arms, but the wind was knocked from her. Now she cannot wake and the dog will not leave her bed.” The other companions who had gathered close murmured among themselves considering what could be done, and the animals crowded at the doorway.
    Samson poked his long nose into the potter’s house, the lambs shuffling about bleating, “Let us see! Let us see!” The donkey looked down with serious ears. “If you can’t grow up, the least you can do is be quiet.”
    â€œHush now,” Eden shushed the noisy things, “And go into the street before I growl.”
    The lambs turned away in disappointment. “Aw … we want to see.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to look at yet. Go be good,” Eden told them. Her eyes dwelt on the dog on the bed. She knew that look. Approach and die. Be warned .
    The potter gazed over everyone in the crowded street and shook his head in dismay. He had not enough room inside to invite them in, but didn’t want anyone to leave. Would their master try to help? Eden did not know.
    At last, her