Mount Faithful
The ground shook. Streets broke in little chasms, pots fell and smashed on the floors, windows cracked.
"The mountain is displeased," the Topmost Faithful said.
The other Faithful agreed.
It was time for the sacrifice. It wasn't an annual thing, heck, it wasn't even a decennial one. The unspoken rule was: When the mountain roared, the Faithful delivered.
They gathered up in the main square, bringing their youngest sons and daughters.
The Topmost Faithful hurried to get his lava-coloured robes and met them at the square. He stood on the topmost step and looked down at the gathered Sicilians. The murmur stopped as soon as coughed.
"Faithful ones, it's that time again. We must get to the top of Etna. Gather up your strength, wear your best boots and bring your cured meat
