Balungile paced around her cage. It was small but big compared to others, only a lion's length from the center and no taller than a snail's length from her head. She hated the cold metal bars but loved when people touched them. Then she would strike out with her lightning, causing filthy humans to burn. How she ached for their flesh, yet all they would feed her was tiny, hairless boars. She cried out and rattled her cage violently, shaking her head from side to side. HOW SHE HATED THIS CAGE! She longed for the sky! The wind! The endless storms of the earth! She had so many storms trapped inside her, yet the filthy humans would barely let her unleash them, fearful for their puny lives. Oh, now she wanted them to parade her in front of other filthy humans. She needed to get out. Out of this cage; out of this form. She longed to feel soil, not metal, beneath her feet. When would the show start? WHEN?!