a painting of a house with a wheel in front of it

In a quaint village nestled between rolling hills and whispering streams, there lived an old potter named Eamon. His workshop, a weathered structure with a thatched roof, stood at the edge of the village, where the scent of damp earth mingled with the aroma of freshly baked clay.Eamon was renowned for his craftsmanship, his hands molding clay into exquisite works of art that seemed to whisper tales of forgotten lands and ancient wisdom. Villagers often visited his workshop not only to admire his creations but also to seek his counsel, for Eamon was known for his profound insights.One evening, as the sun dipped low, casting a golden hue upon the horizon, a troubled young man named Kael approached Eamon's workshop. His brow furrowed with worry, Kael carried a burden too heavy for his young shoulders to bear."Master Eamon," Kael began hesitantly, "I come seeking guidance. I feel lost, unsure of my path in life."Eamon regarded Kael with kind eyes, his hands pausing in their work. "Sit, young one," he said, gestur