Sanchez read of birds that had been allies and sought them out one summer, further from his usual territory than ever. The trip carried in an outward spiral, and he met with many falcons* who agreed to carry the wind for him. At this the command was given to trees and foliage, and all creatures of the wind. It was called to the clouds.
While circling Sanchez came upon a boulder where was frozen the hand of a lady who must have been standing inside it for a very long time.
He tried chiseling at the area around the hand to no avail and wandered away to sleep beside a tree until morning, awakening with thirst.
First he sought water, finding it nearby where a stream ran. His new allies caught fish and he charred some over a fire before making his way back to the stone with a hatchet fashioned of a stick tied to a sharp rock.
He brought the hand back with him and placed it on his mantle among the other things he’d gathered in similar ventures: a foot that had been pulled from a rotting log, several sections of arm and leg, and a single eye that he had torn from a skull at the scrap yard and tried looking through to no avail.
It was a collection begun under no expectation, but swiftly carried with it a very obvious idea.
Building the Frame
Going to the part yard on a strict schedule, just ahead of the dump, Sanchez gathered patiently the remainder of human parts and organized a workshop in a cave nearby.
He toiled there day and night only going for supplies until three summers later when he had woven his ghost back into a tangible body. It was a female, short, imaginatively misshapen, clumsy, graceful, and swooping, torn, and blue/green eyed staring in awe at all times as if witness to some great upheaval, and he grew to love her image coming home to eventually prepare two lunches and let one go to waste only to see her as if she were alive.
But the figure never spoke. It never drew breath. It leaned on the mantle until he came home to move it about on his own.