I walked back to my home with what little I could afford in food. The tent smelled of dust and antiques. I loved it. It may not have been expensive or new, but it was home. I tried to clean it as much as I could. My blankets and rugs strategically placed on the ground. A chair made of tree roots and flowery vines grew from the ground. Books piled beside it looked old and faded, but I love that old book feel and smell. My spell books on a special table I created from old stone. I specialize in natural magic. Meaning rocks, plants, animals, basically anything that isn't made by a human. I play it off like I'm just crafty to lead people astray from my magic. The place was dark except for a couple lamps that light up once I walk into the tent. My krystals surrounded my table of special books. I only owned a few krystals. Some I found myself. I placed the food beside my chair and sat down. I put a rock I had found on my way home in my lap as I started the magic process. My eyes shut, and my hands met over the rock. I began to imagine a bowl. My mind imitated the image, every detail, taste, touch, see, hear, and smell. Taste of minerals and dirt came to mind. A small hint of metal, too. It felt smooth and round, but with a stitched in design. It looked small, a hollow semicircle, with an engraved raven on the bottom of the bowl. It sounded like the gentle song birds sing in a forest while picking wild flowers. Finally, it radiated the scent of cold river water, rushing through the Rapids. I opened my eyes to see this bowl infront of me. Now, I just needed a pestle.
