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Child of the 7th Age · 01-04-2005, 12:54 PM

Day 3

It was noon of the third day. The original watchfire beside the bier burned low and was finally extinguished with the help of many buckets of water. As the last of the red flames reluctantly spluttered and died, plumes of smoke swirled upward until an overhanging curtain of grey was visible across the desert even from a distance. For the past two days the maenwaith tending Ayar’s watchfire had fed the flames with small twigs or dried bracken gathered from the watering hole. But such a fire would not be large enough for the new job at hand, since this was the final day of mourning, a time when family and clan would offer their last goodbyes. Ayar’s spirit would depart and fly free across the heavens. The maenwaith would burn her body and inter the remains beneath the desert sand, with a cairn to mark the grave.

Some weeks earlier, once the council had understood that their leader would not regain her strength, the Elders had dispatched swift messengers to the south on horseback. Now these messengers had returned dragging sledges behind their horses, each one bearing a sizeable bundle of logs . These horsemen had journeyed to the lower slopes of the mountains in the south to secure the precious wood of the cedar, an aromatic pine that burns sweet and clear.

On this afternoon, the crowd of mourners was even larger than the first two days. Clan members removed the cedar logs from the sledges and arranged them in a single giant stack. On top of this pile, they lovingly placed Ayar’s body. The Eagles stood and watched as tiny tongues of gold and blue flared, taking hold of the sweet smelling bark. This time there was no singing. The two sisters stood erect at the foot of the bier, struggling to hold back tears as they held each other’s hands and watched the flames creep up and tinge the hem of Ayar’s gown. In another instant, a massive sheet of red and orange leapt forward, rising some ten feet above their heads. Ayar’s body and features were blurred and then lost forever beneath its relentless spread. The men of the clan would remove the charred remains, bury them late at night, and pile up the stones, once the ashes were no longer so hot to the touch.

That evening just before the burial, the gathered crowd of mourners again lifted their voices in a final song, urging Ayar to fly free in whatever direction she chose and learn to master her true form, whatever that might be. As the last notes of the melody died away, the two sisters left the gathering and returned together to their tent to await the ceremony at dawn when they would upturn the pot of water, which had sat there from the first day of mourning. This simple act would signify that the clan was now free to go forward and begin to rebuild its life.

01-04-2005, 12:54 PM	#313
Child of the 7th Age Spirit of the Lonely Star Join Date: Mar 2002 Posts: 5,135	Day 3 It was noon of the third day. The original watchfire beside the bier burned low and was finally extinguished with the help of many buckets of water. As the last of the red flames reluctantly spluttered and died, plumes of smoke swirled upward until an overhanging curtain of grey was visible across the desert even from a distance. For the past two days the maenwaith tending Ayar’s watchfire had fed the flames with small twigs or dried bracken gathered from the watering hole. But such a fire would not be large enough for the new job at hand, since this was the final day of mourning, a time when family and clan would offer their last goodbyes. Ayar’s spirit would depart and fly free across the heavens. The maenwaith would burn her body and inter the remains beneath the desert sand, with a cairn to mark the grave. Some weeks earlier, once the council had understood that their leader would not regain her strength, the Elders had dispatched swift messengers to the south on horseback. Now these messengers had returned dragging sledges behind their horses, each one bearing a sizeable bundle of logs . These horsemen had journeyed to the lower slopes of the mountains in the south to secure the precious wood of the cedar, an aromatic pine that burns sweet and clear. On this afternoon, the crowd of mourners was even larger than the first two days. Clan members removed the cedar logs from the sledges and arranged them in a single giant stack. On top of this pile, they lovingly placed Ayar’s body. The Eagles stood and watched as tiny tongues of gold and blue flared, taking hold of the sweet smelling bark. This time there was no singing. The two sisters stood erect at the foot of the bier, struggling to hold back tears as they held each other’s hands and watched the flames creep up and tinge the hem of Ayar’s gown. In another instant, a massive sheet of red and orange leapt forward, rising some ten feet above their heads. Ayar’s body and features were blurred and then lost forever beneath its relentless spread. The men of the clan would remove the charred remains, bury them late at night, and pile up the stones, once the ashes were no longer so hot to the touch. That evening just before the burial, the gathered crowd of mourners again lifted their voices in a final song, urging Ayar to fly free in whatever direction she chose and learn to master her true form, whatever that might be. As the last notes of the melody died away, the two sisters left the gathering and returned together to their tent to await the ceremony at dawn when they would upturn the pot of water, which had sat there from the first day of mourning. This simple act would signify that the clan was now free to go forward and begin to rebuild its life.