#3. Funeral
The third time Cole ran away with the chickens, Aziff knew she had to stop him. They didn't have enough supplies for him to be hiding them away! The dwarf knew he didn't want the chickens to die , but it had to be done; they had a lot of mouths to feed and worlds were saved on empty stomachs.
So it was that Aziff slipped up the stairs that lead to the attic space that that Cole had taken up residency in. He was, in fact, there; along with six chickens.
"Cole..." Aziff began
"No. He was going to chop them early. They still had time left."
This...was going to be difficult.
"Cole, please...you know those chickens are for food. You have to return them."
Cole pulled the brim of his hat lower, as if his hair wasn't covering his face enough. With his other hand, he patted a chicken.
This was, as Aziff was well aware, Cole's own special breed of passive aggressive defiance. It was tiresome because he pretty much ignored the problem; something told Aziff that if he wasn't more human now, he would have just made her forget and sent her on her way.
"Cole-"
"I know. Can you...can we do something for them?"
Aziff was perplexed, but willing to hear him out.
"Okay, what do you want to do for them?"
The spirit scratched a chicken under the chin.
"I will kill them...then afterwards I want to bury them."
A good hundred reason why that wouldn't work jumped to the forefront of Aziff's mind, but she did her best to keep them at bay. What Cole was trying to do was sweet and noble, in a way. It was just...just...
"You want...a chicken funeral?" Saying in aloud, it sounded like a joke. Cole's expression was not.
"Yes." he answered.
"You realize we won't have bodies, right?"
"The feathers will be enough."
"The feathers?"
"Yes."
Okay, okay, she could work with this.
"Who else do you want to attend the funeral?"
Cole though for a moment. "Just the two of us. The others won't understand. Call us silly or kid."
Aziff didn't know if she understood, but she agreed. The others most definitely wouldn't. It was a wise choice on his part.
Cole started to gather up the chickens in his arms. They seemed rather docile around him, which was quite the feat.
"Meet me outside the walls in two hours."
And then he was gone.
The funeral was short, but to the point. Aziff had brought a blossom of Crystal Grace with her, since she was pretty sure that was what you did at a surface funeral. Cole seemed happy about it, as he gingerly laid it on the middle of seven little mounds of dirt.
He said a few words. Really nice words for chickens; as if he had known them. Maybe he had. It reminded Aziff of her first kill down in Orzammar. It had been a nug, pretty much the equivalent to a subterranean chicken. The usually docile creature had gone rabid. She had been young, unarmed, and sloppy; she bashed it head in and watched horrified as the little nug twitched and screeched in death. Aziff grimaced. She hated that memory and it came to haunt her in battle all too often. She attempted to give her opponents a better fate.
"Panic. Terror. Furiously fast then frothing. A river of red, winds screams through the pass, then silence. She whimpers as it twitches at last and the river stops flowing, despite the flood that is to come."
Yeah, Cole was bound to pick up on that.
"They didn't die that way." he amended. "Silent, swift. Easy and calm."
Aziff nodded. "Good."
Cole had finished speaking. Now they looked over the seven graves in silence.
Wait a minute...
"Hey Cole, weren't there only six chickens?" Had she miscounted? Maybe she, but the cook was never wrong.
He nodded.
"Yes. Six chickens and one nug."
Three days later, Aziff smiled.
The spirit barreled down the down stairs of the tavern, scaring half of the patrons out of their seats. Something small and fluffy was cupped tenderly in his hands. He ran up to her at the bar and it took every inch of Aziff's self control not to smile. The fluffy object was placed on the bar in front of her.
The chick wandered around the counter, cheeping amiably at the bartender, who sneered at it.
"You did this." Cole breathed. His face was inches from hers; the brim of his hat nearly touching his forehead.
Aziff took a sip of her ale to cover up her near break in resolve.
"His name is Ozrin."
The Inquisitor nearly choked on her drink in shock. Out of all the names her could have picked from, what were the odds it would have been that one?
Well, actually, Aziff knew the odds, and that guesswork really had nothing to do with it. She knew exactly where he had gotten that name from.
Cole seemed to deflate at her reaction. What once had been confidence was now doubt. He backed away.
"It's okay, right? I don't want it to hurt. I can change it, it you like."
Was it oaky?
Slowly, Aziff regained her composure. This time she didn't hide her smile from the spirit.
"No, no. Ozrin seems...right."
Ozrin; the name of her old pet nug.