Kalama found herself in Polaris once more. It wasn't the worst place to end up--there was no rain, it wasn't humid, and it didn't have the dust storms of Monoceros. She'd been wandering the caves for some time now. Kalama didn't have many attachments to other gembound, so she often found her wanderings without difficulty. She did miss her da-mentor though. Sometimes. And the other bonebound members were ok, probably.

She didn't exactly...know them. Nor did she ever really make the effort to. She, personally, didn't get why they loved the sticks of dead things so much. They called them bones, but they were basically white sticks. But if her mentor was bonebound, and respected it so would she.

But that wasn't important. What was important, right now, was finding the collector. She didn’t exactly have a plan. She just figured that if she looked around enough, he’d just show up. She didn’t really know anyone else that had encountered the collector, that wouldn't get suspicious when she asked about them. She scratched at the dirt, mulling over her options.

She inspected the ground, examining the rocks that made up the floor of the cave. She needed to practice her spur strikes, she realized suddenly. Perhaps if she were intimidating enough with them, she could make the collector fear her. The thought made Kalama giddy. She found a nice rock, greyish and at perfect height for her spur. Perfect to strike. She raised her flint spur, and struck it against the rock. A small trio of sparks went up. Not her most impressive display. She'd need to work on it, make them perfect. Then she would be feared by the collector, and not the other way around.

Speech. Thought

Kalama paused in her abuse of the grey stone, jumping as small blue blur landed near her. At first, she puffed up, tail twitching and clucking in distress as she readied to fight the newcomer. And then she saw them. She watched, confused as the small bird approached her, at least small in comparison to Kalama's bulk, its eyes glued onto her legs. And then, they asked to watch her warrior training. This was clearly a bird of culture. Kalama wasn't exactly expecting the bird to ask that, especially after readying to fight but she was never one to turn down praise or an audience. Especially when it was a bird, Kalama never met other birds. It made her feel Very Important. So Kalama enthusiastically obliged. She puffed out her chest, flicking her tail feathers.

"Of course!" She all but shouted, trying her hardest to come across as not desperate for the attention. "I am Kalama, defender of the Bonebound, and apprentice to a master fighter, winged blue berry. And this is my war training." In an display hammed up to the nth degree, Kalama rose her spurred foot, and struck it against the stone once more. Her spur strike was one of the best she'd ever done, if she did say so herself. She felt proud as she watched a spray of sparks shot out as her spur struck the rock once more.

But her pride quickly melted away, as, with a flash of light, a clump of dried grass within the firing range of her sparks went alight in seconds. And then another. The smell of burning filled Kalama's nostrils, and she clamped her bill down before a screech of panic could escape her. This was new. She flapped her wings at the flame, desperate to save face and put the flame out before it spread.

Speech. Thought