The dark robed beings circled the fire, chanting words in a language unfamiliar to me; mind scrambled for a plan. I looked at the ground, a broken branch laid at my knees. There must be at least ten of these. A broken branch is no good. Damnit.
Adam twisted and writhed his muscular body against its restraints but couldn't break their hold. Chanting intensified, from the edge of the woods and behind the tree another figure emerged, dragging a goat on the ground, forcing it next to Adam and tying it to the tree. The goat bellowed and tried to kick but its legs were bound tight. I flashed to a documentary I once saw. Ancient tribes believed that burnt offerings released the spirit of the animal bound by its flesh.
“Dark father, we offer this sacrifice to appease your bountiful generosity.
