Not Like You (The Simian Forest Saga: Vol. I)

The Collision [XXIV]

Ilam was buried at dawn the next day, right next to his late wife. The spot chosen was right on the cliff-side, looking out over the wood, facing directly toward the desert in the distance. His daughters, April and Rose, held each other in constant grief, eyes moist and shoulders shaking. From beside him he felt Ring stir, greyish-green set blank. Exchanging a brief grunt, Slate gently placed a hand upon her back while they carried the fallen ape's body out into the clear. Rocket supported the middle, steely as ever, Stone in the lead and Coal in the back. The bonobo's body had been nestled in bows of cedar and dressed in chalky warpaint with a single smear of blue across his eyes. Slate's hands still ached from digging the shallow grave, the cold mud still present beneath his fingernails like a haunting ghost.

An inch further and it could have been Rocket, a hair-length further upon the gorilla's chest and his heart would have surely been clipped. It could have happened to anybody else, to Tyler, to Pigeon, to Cornelius even -- if Pine had have stuck around longer. Slate bit back a shudder at the thought of laying his prince to rest, still as stone and never to move again. The crowd shifted, eyes slowly following the passing coffin of branches, the ache of regret and sorrow palpable in the air. Once he was lowered beneath the surface of the earth, the apes slowly began to lay their own offerings and gifts around the body. First kin, then siblings and friends. The final offering was from Rocket himself, spear in hand. Ilam was to be laid to rest like a proper warrior. Slate only could dream of a ceremony such as this.

The stormy-grey chimp paused in front of his dear friend's grave and his shoulders slumped slightly, looking upon the weapon between his fists in thought. It would be the last time he studied its grooves and the engravings the chimp and he had designed himself. Tinker, dressed formally in her shaman attire, offered a hand upon the small of his back, which evidently gave him enough strength to give the mighty weapon over. Rocket sucked in a quick breath and knelt, allowing it to nestle at his side, among the fruit and flowers and autumn leaves lining the nest. The ritual was nearly over, to be finished by Maurice's kind words before allowing the tribe to surround Ilam's final resting place and lay bows of pine across his exposed frame. Finally, as the sun cracked over the misty canopy, Slate watched as the colony slowly withdrew; bits and pieces at first, but then eventually in groups.

There was not a moment to lose.

Slate stuck behind, stoically taking his place beside Cornelius and Rocket, pushing the dirt and clay back over their fallen friend. It wasn't until he glanced up across the lip of the hole that he spotted his sister, standing beside Lake, waiting quietly for his return. The task at hand took perhaps a half an hour, yet they still waited, they still hung back. Eventually he was finished and knuckled over to join them by the skinny birch trunks. Leaves crunched beneath his dirty paws, their rich scent flooding his nostrils and reminding him that winter would soon be present. Would it snow? Perhaps. The chinobo came to sit next to Lake, who looked over at the dispersing party and the mound of churned earth with a hollow sort of look.

'Are you okay?' he signed apprehensively. Ever since the discovery of them being part of the same family, the pair had been uncomfortable and awkward.

Her head, however, turned in his direction and she offered an almost pitifully sad smile. It just about twisted his guts senseless. 'As best as I can be,' she replied, the bones framing her face gently swaying. At one time he had been bashful, finding her to be the most attractive female in the colony. She had such fire, and he liked that. However, Slate had found that in Krissa and it had opened his eyes to a whole new world of possibilities. Still, Blue Eyes had been right to choose her as a wife. 'I knew Ilam. He was kind. Taught me about ducks.'

'He taught me what berries were poison,' Slate reminisced. 'Mushrooms too.'

The following silence was a toothache, an eyesore, something horribly painful that none of them could shake. Slate chuffed and gestured a farewell, leaving the two females to finish their last minute visit. The chinobo took to the trees, sinewy arms carrying him in flight across the canopy. He had a long way to go, did he not? Slate took the short cut down toward the water-side, following the river's path all the way down to the pebbly shores. He stopped halfway to catch his breath and warm himself in the sun, listening to the trees rattle in the breeze as he hunched over, settled upon his haunches and trying to protect his most exposed features from the wind. A raven croaked greedily, most likely having found a juicy piece of carrion to feast on. The idea of food caused Slate's belly to rumble, eager for a meal, but he understood that he had priorities.