make a grave. The handmade wooden cross was strong and had already survived four years-his father’s hands had seen to that.
He gathered flowers from the jungle, then cut down and placed on the grave a traveler’s palm frond whose base held fresh water, in which he arranged the flowers. Then he carefully entwined the pendant around the cross. The disk glinted as the blood sun reached out its beams like a mother’s arms enfolding her child.
A jaguar sat on the white rock, deepening shadows disguising her presence, as Max felt himself drawn into the sun’s embrace.
Anything else could wait for another day.
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