The day was cold and miserable, and snow fell from time to time in large flakes from an ashen sky.
Presently Nam addressed the multitude.
"People of the Mist," he cried, "ye are gathered here to celebrate the feast of Jal, according to ancient custom, but the gods have come back to you, as ye know, and the gods in their wisdom have changed the custom.

Fifty women were prepared for the sacrifice; this morning they rose rejoicing, deeming that they were destined to the Snake, but now their joy is turned to sorrow, since the gods will not accept them, having chosen a new offering for themselves.

Let it be brought forward." At his word lads appeared from behind the idol, driving two lean bulls, and with them a pair of he-goats.
Whether by accident or design, they drove them so unskilfully that the animals blundered hither and thither over the rocky platform till they were finally despatched with blows from clubs and axes--that is, except one goat, which, escaping its pursuers, rushed down the amphitheatre and scrambled from seat to seat among the audience, uttering a succession of terrified "baa's." Indeed the scene was so comic that even that sombre and silent people began to laugh, accustomed as they were on these occasions to the hideous and impressive ceremonial of the midnight sacrifice of so many human beings.
The ancient feast was a fiasco; this was a fact which could not be concealed.
"Begone, ye People of the Mist," said Nam presently, pointing to the dead animals.

"The sacrifice is sacrificed, the festival of Jal is done.

May the Mother plead with the Snake that the sun may shine and fruitfulness bless the land!" Now scarcely ten minutes had elapsed since the beginning of the ceremony, which in the ordinary course of events lasted through the greater part of the night, for it was the custom to slaughter each victim singly and with appropriate solemnities.