Another sniff, another scuffle in the rock with his forepaws, and a glance around.

There was a single gemstone with the faintest spark--or was it simply buried, a little? Shango quickly dug it out, ears pinning as the stomping grew rapidly closer. He snatched it up in a forelimb and raced off before the golem could get to him, and didn't stop until he was a safe distance away. Not worth the danger, he decided at once. That was close. He didn't know why the golems were so hostile, so aggressive, but he sure as hell wasn't sticking around to find out.

Once well enough away, he spent a few moments poring over the two new stones. One was strong enough; one was quite weak. These two he carried off, secreting them away with the rest of his collection--again careful to ensure no one saw, that no one was watching.

That done, he took a few moments to study Polaris from his ledge, trying to decide on his next target.

stone counter: 5 Fledgling (useless), 9 Pupil

He struck out again at a glide, simply soaring over Polaris while keeping his eyes open, and his magic alert. This, unfortunately, proved a rather pointless endeavor; at any sort of speed, he simply wasn't sharp-eyed enough (or sharp... magicked?) to spot small gemstones along the dark cave floor.

He made three passes: first, sweeping out toward the eastern walls of the cave. He found nothing at all, and so curved along west, passing over the river and then well north of the Spire. For each long glide, too, he had to spend time working his way up with slow climbing, and by the time he made his final pass south along the western walls, he felt nearly exhausted.

Still, that place north of the river looks promising. Maybe if I land there--there's big crystals; maybe there'll be smaller ones to find? The big ones might be messing with my magic, especially if I'm going so fast. Slowly he clambered up yet again, high on a ledge, and swept down over the river once more. He didn't like that river--too fast, too cold--but once safely on the other side he rested, for a few minutes.

The crystals here were bright, and large: many were a great deal bigger than his entire body. The strip of land tucked between the northern shore of the river's curve, and the northern cave wall, was not that large, all things considered--but large enough for scattered gemstones to perhaps be found.

Maybe Gembound who'd drowned had washed up here; or maybe some had gotten stranded on this side of the river, never to return. He couldn't be sure, but he'd never seen anyone over here. That meant two things: maybe nobody ever came here, and he'd never find any stones... but maybe nobody ever checked here, either, golems included, so he might find gemstones fresh for the taking.

Quietly, and this time slowly and diligently, he picked his way along the cave floor, weaving in and out between the massive crystals. His head was to the floor, his eyes sharp and his nose working, and his horns (and entire body) glowing a faint blue as he reached out with his magic.

There was a sudden crash to his right, and Shango leapt in startlement, springing away as a great, stone fist smashed down. ...Okay, so there were golems. Sharp shards of shattered stone flew at him, a few even scratching his hide--and the hybrid bolted with a squall of startled fear, birdlike feet clattering with horse-hoofed bottoms over stone. He could hear the golem in close pursuit behind him.

He could hear the earth-shattering stomps just behind him, the golem surprisingly fast, and the hybrid--his heart racing--galloped to the river's edge. He skidded to a halt just at its steep banks--he'd already had his terrible near-drowning experience, and he wasn't in any rush to repeat it.

But the golem was just behind him, and after a moment--and with another squalling cry--he leapt, wings spreading, trying to clear the river. Down he sailed... and straight into the water, his protest muffled as icy water plunged into his open jaws. He felt himself engulfed, sucked down and dragged off, his breath taken away by the bitter cold. And, well, the water in his lungs.

He couldn't hear the golem, at least, but that might have been due to the water pouring around his ears in rushing rapids, and the fact that he was submerged, tumbling against rock and riverbed again as the currents took him.

His head broke the water, periodically, and with another choking, coughing yowl of protest he made the surface, for a moment. He'd already forgotten his prior escape, and so when he thought of blowing himself out with a gust of wind, it felt like a new and novel idea.

He managed to get his wings above the churning surface just long enough for the warm air to catch them, and with two swift beats he was lifted clear, thrown wet and trembling onto the opposite shore. Quickly he turned, choking and coughing and thin with drenched water, looking back the way he'd come--but there was no sign of the golem. Either it'd gone in, as well, or he'd been carried too far from where he'd started.

Shaking himself, and shaking out one paw at a time, catlike, he started the slow and irritated walk back the way he'd initially come.

Stupid golem. Stupid river, he thought, too, even though the waters had likely saved his life.

The long walk back to his ledge he made dripping a trail of water behind him. He was cold, now, and hungry, but at least he wasn't thirsty. On the way, he kept his eyes open for gemstones, checking any glint of rock that he saw as he walked.

He found only one--strong, but again not as powerful as he would have liked. He picked this up, carrying it with him, quiet and tired.

When eventually he reached his ledge, he curled up there, trembling with cold and adrenaline--and, he had to admit to himself, exhaustion. He'd been searching and seeking with only brief rests of a couple hours at a time. It was time, he decided, for a long sleep--a half a day of snoozing, curled among his hidden stones.

The newest addition he nested in alongside the rest, hidden away under other, duller rocks. He did a quick count--he had something like ten decent stones, now, and a handful of weaker ones. Again, he wasn't entirely sure how many the Merchant would need--but hopefully these were a good start.

stone counter: 5 Fledgling (useless), 10 Pupil

He was dry, now, at least.

Shango had been here for days, so that his little niche was now coated in shed fur. He'd hunted, slept and drank in Polaris, feeling the energy of the Spire humming through his every moment. It felt like a storm, but not, in a way that was both pleasing and disconcerting. He still wasn't altogether sure if he liked the cave, or disliked it, but he certainly preferred both Eridanus and Fornax, with their vibrant life and volatile moods.

Still, there were more stones here, at least the way Shango imagined it. And so he had remained, and was back to hunting diligently. For now he was carefully sniffing and moving along the eastern wall, where it joined to the cave floor, his nose to the ground and his eyes searching the rock. He looked for all the world like a hound dog on a trail.

His magicka reached out, tendrils like fingers spreading out in search, or perhaps more like a field of sensitivity--and something suddenly crashed back at him, echoing, ringing with its power. At once, the hybrid leapt forward, nosing with eager intensity for the powerful magic that flared before him.

There--!

He pulled the stone to himself with greedy swipes of his talons, touching it with his nose. Excitement thrilled within him, but also awe--whatever had once borne this stone, had been powerful. More powerful than he was, perhaps by a great deal.

With a thrilled squall, a shrieking roar that echoed briefly through his side of the cave, he half-bolted, half-glided back to his hiding space to tuck this gem away.

stone counter: 5 Fledgling (useless), 10 Pupil, 1 Master

Shango was filled with a savage excitement by his last success. He was absolutely certain that the gemstone he'd found was as strong as they could get--that it was one, at least, that would prove a useful key to the Masked Merchant.

Tail lashing behind him, a clear indicator of his mindset, he went back to the same location. He wasn't sure how the Master stone had ended up where it had--but perhaps, more than one had wound up in the same place. The feather-like scales at his tail-tip and along his mane pricked up a little as he put his nose back to the ground intently.

He certainly did find a stone, but it was much weaker than the last. He found his imagination wandering--had the powerful Gembound killed the weaker, but died afterward, perhaps to wounds, or some sort of toxin? Or maybe the little had attacked the larger, with the same result? More likely, the two stones had wound up in the same place quite by accident. Perhaps the two had died here at wildly different times, or maybe someone else, long ago, had collected and brought them here. Or maybe one had fallen, clattering along, kicked by oblivious feet until they'd wound up in about the same place.

It mattered little: the stone wound up in the same place as the rest, secreted away in Shango's hiding place.

stone counter: 6 Fledgling (useless), 10 Pupil, 1 Master

Black, in a word, lived here. Each cave was large, and so it'd taken a couple of days for the stranger's scent--permeating the area enough to suggest a longer stay--to reach his nostrils.

At length he'd sought it out, more out of idle curiosity than anything else. He was a watchdog, a Guardian by his own decision, and so he generally tried to be aware of what was happening, at least in Polaris. He'd wound up entangled in many potentially historic events throughout the years, but somehow "strange hybrid sniffing a lot around the floor" did not, at first, strike him as all that important.

For a brief time he watched Shango on his hunt for... whatever he sought. Given the hybrid's apparent successes, his departures and returns, Black had to assume that it wasn't rats he was hunting.

He gave a soft woof to announce himself the next time Shango landed, padding his way over--given the stranger's intensity of purpose and alertness to his surroundings, he knew he'd have been spotted sooner rather than later, anyway. And regardless, Black wasn't the sort to lurk when he could simply stride over and ask what was going on--in a curious way, of course. He did not see himself as having any sort of authority over anyone else.

"Hello," he declared, voice staid. Face wrinkled with attentive interest, he tilted his head; pendulous ears swung out and dangled. "I am Black. What do you seek?"

________________

Shango's head jerked up, sharply, at the deep, soft bark. The approaching dog made him tense--it was intent on him, menacingly black, and bulky. It was also totally unafraid, with very little body language to give away its intentions. Shango peeled back wrinkled lips, eyes flaring and thick fangs bared, his scale-feathers rising, but the dog spoke civilly, and he quickly calmed.

"I can see you're black," he answered, quizzically. Why the hell was it announcing its color? At the dog's question, his feathers rose again, prickling with suspicion. His eyes narrowed. "They're my stones, so don't take them," he began, turning to square off with Black.

"Or--they are for now. The thing-with-a-hood in Canis wants them. To open a new place," he explained. "So I'm finding them. He gives magic when you do things for him," Shango added, eyeing Black over. The mastiff didn't seem about to leap at him with snarling, drooling fangs, or anything, so he turned back to his hunt--though he kept one eye, and both ears, toward the mastiff.