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His hands moved with ease in a circular motion, smooth and even with liquidic movements over the ball of clay that set before him. His breathing even had a rythmic motion to it, as though everything he did at this moment had to be precisely perfect. He was a mage, and magic user.
As his movements continued, the clay ball rose slowly off it's surface, spinning in the air. Soon it's orbical shape began to waver as his hands now moved a more vertical motion around it, and the ball became longer, and from the top, a depression formed, hollowing out the longiated clay object. In a matter of time, the clay had taken on that of a flawless vase of iregular shape.
As the newly formed vase continued to spin and hover there before his eyes as he continued his movements, he found, as he so often did, something so very familiar of these movements, as though it were once some traing for a spell more powerful or of more use than he used it for, making this pottery. Through his mind came images, scenes of something he felt he knew, of himself using these movements with his handsm and using thise breathing teqnque, though something more powerful had happened.
In the midst of this strange day dream, his concentration was lost as someone called from the front desk, and the vase fell from the air, it's semi dry shell shattering as it hit the ground, and the images, scenes, vanished from his mind with bairly a trace, liek a dream you had the nigth before, but can't really remember.