"So what's in the box, kid?" Kisame asked, whacking off the bark on the outside of the beams. Merely for looks, they'd burn either way. He was shooting for something about ten feet tall, something that's burn far longer than a bit of dead tinder needed.
"Dead relative? Gun? Cash?" He had to take down another tree, this one was still alive, the sap got onto his hands. He broke it into smaller pieces. Fresh wood smoked like a sonofabitch, might obscure the skeletal silhouette a little.
He wrinkled his nose, trying to pick out a sage small over sticky fresh pine, breaking point duo, and body dust still sticking to him from that morning.
In a lot of ways, they were lucky, he decided. Lucky that it'd been dry, hot heat and no air in the tin can. If it'd just been, straight no air they might have had a disturbingly fresh looking corpse on their hands. At least with mummies, they didn't ever look alive. Well, okay, he'd heard sometimes the linen wrapped ones got uppity, but, ah well.