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ners embroidered with twisted snakes and so on。 Beyond the circles of firelight a large number of plains people had gathered； druidic festivals were always popular； especially when things went wrong。 Rincewind stared at them。
'What's going on？'
'Oh； well；' said Twoflower enthusiastically； 'apparently there's this ceremony dating back for thousands of years to celebrate the； um； rebirth of the moon； or possibly the sun。 No； I'm pretty certain it's the moon。 Apparently it's very solemn and beautiful and invested with a quiet dignity。'
Rincewind shivered。 He always began to worry when Twoflower started to talk like that。 At least he hadn't said 'picturesque' or 'quaint' yet； Rincewind had never found a satisfactory translation for those words； but the nearest he had been able to e was 'trouble'。
'I wish the Luggage was here；' said the tourist regretfully。 'I could use my picture box。 It sounds very quaint and picturesque。'
The crowd stirred expectantly。 Apparently things were about to start。
'Look；' said Rincewind urgently。 'Druids are priests。 You must remember that。 Don't do anything to upset them。'
'But…'
'Don't offer to buy the stones。'
'But I…'
'Don't start talking about quaint native folkways。'
'I thought…'
'Really don't try to sell them insurance； that always upsets them。'
'But they're priests！' wailed Twoflower。 Rincewind paused。
'Yes；' he said。 That's the whole point； isn't it？'
At the far side of the outer circle some sort of procession was forming up。
'But priests are good kind men；' said Twoflower。 'At home they go around with begging bowls。 It's their only possession；' he added。
'Ah；' said Rincewind； not certain he understood。 This would be for putting the blood in； right？'
'Blood？'
'Yes； from sacrifices。' Rincewind thought about the priests he had known at home。 He was； of course； anxious not to make an enemy of any god and had attended any number of temple functions and； on the whole； he thought that the most accurate definition of any priest in the Circle Sea Regions was someone who spent quite a lot of time gory to the armpits。
Twoflower looked horrified。
'Oh no；' he said。 'Where I e from priests are holy men who have dedicated themselves to lives of poverty； good works and the study of the nature of God。'
Rincewind considered this novel proposition。
'No sacrifices？' he said。
'Absolutely not。'
Rincewind gave up。 'Well；' he said； 'they don't sound very holy to me。'
There was a loud blarting noise from a band of bronze trumpets。 Rincewind looked around。 A line of druids marched slowly past； their long sickles hung with sprays of mistletoe。 Various junior druids and apprentices followed them； playing a variety of percussion instruments that were traditionally supposed to drive away evil spirits and quite probably succeeded。
Torchlight made excitingly dramatic patterns on the stones； which stood ominously against the green…lit sky。 Hubwards； the shimmering curtains of the aurora coriolis began to wink and glitter among the stars as a million ice rystals danced in the Disc's magical field。
'Belafon explained it all to me；' whispered Twoflower。 We're going to see a time…honoured ceremony that celebrates the Oneness of Man with the Universe； that was what he said。'
Rincewind looked sourly at the procession。 As the druids spread out around a great flat stone that dominated the centre of the circle he couldn't help noticing the attractive if rather pale young lady in their midst。 She wore a long white robe； a gold torc around her neck； and an expression of vague apprehension。
'Is she a druidess？' said Twoflower。
'I don't think so；' said Rincewind slowly。
The druids began to chant。 It was； Rincewind felt； a particularly nasty and rather dull chant which sounded very much as if it was going to build up to an abrupt crescendo。 The sight of the young woman lying down on the big stone didn't do anything to derail his train of thought。
'I want to stay；' said Twoflower。 'I think ceremonies like this hark back to a primitive simplicity which…'
Yes； yes；' said Rincewind； 'but they're going to sacrifice her； if you must know。'
Twoflower looked at him in astonishment。
'What； kill her？'
'Yes。'
'Why？'
'Don't ask me。 To make the crops grow or the moon rise or something。 Or maybe they're just keen on killing people。 That's religion for you。'
He became aware of a low humming sound； not so much heard as felt。 It seemed to be ing from the stone next to them。 Little points of light flickered under its surface； like mica specks。
Twoflower was opening and shutting his mouth。
'Can't they just use flowers and berries and things？' he said。 'Sort of symbolic？'
'Nope。'
'Has anyone ever tried？'
Rincewind sighed。 'Look；' he said。 'No self…respecting High Priest is going to go through all the business with the trumpets and the processions and the banners and everything； and then shove his knife into a daffodil and a couple of plums。 You've got to face it； all this stuff about golden boughs and the cycles of nature and stuff just boils down to sex and violence； usually at the same time。'
To his amazement Twoflower's lip was trembling。 Twoflower didn't just look at the world through rose…tinted spectacles； Rincewind knew … he looked at it through a rose…tinted brain； too； and heard it through rose…tinted ears。
The chant was rising inexorably to a crescendo。 The head druid was testing the edge of his sickle and all eyes were turned to the finger of stone on the snowy hills beyond the circle where the moon was due to make a guest appearance。
'It's no use you…'
But Rincewind was talking to himself。
However； the chilly landscape outside the circle was not entirely devoid of life。 For one thing a party of wizards was even now drawing near； alerted by Trymon。
But a small and solitary figure was also watching from the cover of a handy fallen stone。 One of the Disc's greatest legends watched the events in the stone circle with considerable interest。
He saw the druids circle and chant； saw the chief druid I raise his sickle 。 。 。'
Heard the voice。
'I say！ Excuse me！ Can I have a word？'
Rincewind looked around desperately for a way of escape。 There wasn't one。 Twoflower was standing by the altar stone with one finger in the air and an attitude of polite determination。
Rincewind remembered one day when Twoflower had thought a passing drover was beating his cattle too hard； and the case he had made for decency towards animals had left Rincewind severely trampled and lightly gored。 The druids were looking at Twoflower with the kind of expression normally reserved for mad sheep or the sudden appearance of a rain of frogs。 Rincewind couldn't quite hear what Twoflower was saying； but a few phrases like 'ethnic folkways' and 'nuts and flowers' floated across the hushed circle。
Then fingers like a bunch of cheese straws clamped over the wizard's mouth and an extremely sharp cutting edge pinked his adams apple and a damp voice right by his ear said； 'Not a shound； or you ish a dead man。'
Rincewind's eyes swivelled in their sockets as if trying to find a way out。
'If you don't want me to sa