Once Laertes has cleaned his hands and face, he comes over to carry the water to splash it over the mixed clay and sand and alumina. He grins up at Sagramore, a little mischievous, all delighted. "And now, all that remains is to mix them well." And he wades into the pit, sinking into the slurry up to his ankles. The sensation is absolutely filthy; clay squashes between his toes and sucks at his feet as he tries to pull free. For a moment, he almost overbalances--his arms go out, steadying--and then he catches himself.