The Fire Chronicler had moved further into the Fire Tribe's territory, her eyes becoming more and more transfixed on the volcano. It was so different from where she had 'grown up', if grown up was the right phrase to use. She had been woven as an adult, as most had been from what she gathered. From time to time the Grand Weaver would put a cub out on their own. She assumed most woke in their own Tribe, giving safety and comfort to the lost and confused. Especially for the younger B'alam. But she also knew they could wake in the neutral lands. The lands between Tribe's. Or even in another Tribe's territory, though she didn't think that very likely. The Chronicler's were a different case. They had a purpose to be where they were. And, though she disliked the water, it would always be what she considered home.
This place, however, was also home, in a way. Eulalia couldn't stop thinking about the fact this was where the B'alam that looked more like her were. As she traveled alone through this land, she had seen some from far away. When she got closer, she had lost them. Whether partly from her curiosity finding something else to look at or her inexperience with this land, she couldn't say. And it wasn't like anyone was going to ask her why she had failed to get close enough to certain B'alam.
The mask made it difficult to see. Yes.
At the moment, she was slowly drifting closer to the volcano, her mask settled on her face comfortably, her stomach full from a meal that would last her a while. It was time to get down to business. It was time to finally find her a story to report back with.
