Arriving at its edge, the tribe heaved him onto the tablet and pinned him down onto its cold surface. Climbing up around him, they tied Mike's limbs with rough cords cutting into his wrists and ankles, and strapped the loose ends firmly around four gold rings punched into the rock, leaving Mike's body spread flat across the plate. Then, clambering down from the surface, they turned and walked away. Mike felt the panic rising in his body as their voices and footsteps became more and more distant, until they eventually faded out into the whirling rumble of the wind, leaving Mike helpless and alone out in the open.

The dog was powerless, the tight cords stretching his muscles out beyond his own ability to control them. He could not escape, or even move. He struggled for several minutes, shifting his head against the rock as he wildly darted his gaze across the plain, looking for any sign of what awaited him. With his muscles beginning to ache with the tension and the grip of the cords burning as they pinched the flesh to his bones, his heart sank as he started to come to terms with his hopeless position. Cold, fearful and exposed, he brought his futile struggle to a stop. The sky was turning dark above him, the black clouds drawing towards the sun, the chill in the air growing as a storm wind began to swell over the mountains from the West, like a dark omen warning him of impending danger. Mike could do nothing but lie there, pondering his fate. He knew not when, or even if, the tribe would return. Perhaps this was a cruel means of holding him hostage for their future will. Maybe he would simply be left there on the cold stone to freeze or starve to death. Or most terrifying of all, lying on this rock altar, maybe he was to serve as a tribal sacrifice, an offering to appease the anger of god or terrible beast unknown...