The mothers were always upset, but what had to be done had to be done. The white-clad priest lifted the newborn from the arms of his reluctant young father, and the baby jolted awake as the priest held him aloft and turned about for all to see: a healthy young baby boy, now wearing nothing at all. The baby began to cry, as did the old women who had come with the young man, not yet twenty, who was the father.

The priest swiftly carried the baby up the steep altar where the flames were already licking the wood. It used to be that the baby was simply laid on the pyre still alive, but this priest was skilled and did not like overmuch mess. He had a small knife in his sleeve, and as he got near to the fire, he skillfully and quietly slit the baby's throat and then laid him on the pyre. His flesh was gone in minutes; his bones would be collected later and buried quietly with the others.