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His little funeral pyre burned dejectedly, it has melted the thin layer of snow that had remained after the storm. He burnt his offspring on AniWayan land, he wasn’t superstitious or religious but he deduced that if she was sent off on pack lands, she would benefit from the afterlife AniWayan’s gained. He giggled, softly, Ridiculous! What could the imaginary do that men can’t?
He stood closer, stretching his hands out. Valinta had not wanted to watch, it would have killed her. J’adore placed a bundle of fur onto the shelf where his daughter lay. Some of the hairs were golden, some black. They were both from the girl’s parents; each had decided to keep a piece of them with her ashes. Valinta had asked him to burn her after the storm, collect her ashes and place them in a clay jar.
The jar was simple, clay coloured, with tiny pictures decoration it. Some were from Valinta’s dream, a white wolfess in a forest, a glowing pool. Some depicted places the meant something to the pair, Moscow, Spain, France, Italy and Nova Scotia. Two silver jigsaw puzzle pieces adorned one side and three figures lay beside it, curled together. A large, golden male with a black female pressed to his chest, cradling a single white pup. J’adore had painstakingly painted all this, in the few days he had.
He waited a little longer, till all that lay on the shelf was ash. With a small bucket of water, he killed the remaining flames and removed the shelf, careful not to spill the fine grey ash that covered it. He fed it slowly down the neck of the jar. He placed the lid on and sealing it with wax for the journey home, well to Cercatori.
He slipped the jar into his bag. Was he ready for the tears he would be faced with at his return? Probably not, but he was a man, the man. One of the people Valinta trusted to take care of her. She had been so stubborn about letting him leave. ‘Just one more day!’ she pleaded that morning, clutching the white pup. He simple told her it could wait, that it would be easier to let go now. It was a lie; this was never going to be easy.
He was afraid she’d start to blame him, but for now she was at the stage where she didn’t blame anyone, not even herself!
Ptitsa circled him. ’Tis a sadly day boy...’. She stooped lower and hovered just above J’adore. She opened her talons and dropped a small shrew in his hand, which he lifted knowing what she was about to do.
’This is my tribute to Gloria...’ he said, holding the brown creature by its tail. He retrieved his lighter and set fire to the small animal, it burned quickly and fell to the ground, in ashes in minutes. He left the pile of ash were it was, to travel by way of the wind, to feed his beautiful little girl.’Love you’ he murmured to the wind.
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