Puffing, Morge completed the barrier, then turned for a last look at the _’thing_ gleaming dully in the pale winter sunlight. How strange it looked. In no way did it resemble the usual _death-things_, most of which were long and round with little wings attached. This one was different, like nothing he’d ever seen before. It was boxlike with strange arms sticking up; and under the arms, half-buried, was a shelf or platform resembling vaguely the upper portion of two legs. The _’thing_ terrified Morge for a moment; then, in order to prove his courage to himself, he stepped forward and spat on it. Nothing happened. Sneering, he spat on it again and watched his spittle slowly run down its side over a strange marking like a thunderbolt-- Thunderbolt! Suddenly Morge fell grovelling to his one good knee. It was Thor, god of thunder and lightning and god of the tribe! _And he had spat on Thor!_ For nearly an hour he knelt there praying forgiveness for his sacrilege. Then, trembling, he tore off a piece of his goatskin and wiped the spittle off Thor’s side, carefully began to uncover the remainder of Thor. Finally he lifted Thor out of the hole and onto level ground. Kneeling once more, he took a small drink-scoop from his belt and placed it before Thor. Then he pulled out his knife and folded his single leg under him; bending over, he cut a gash in his wrist and let the blood flow into the scoop until it was nearly full. Rising to his knee he said, "Oh, Thor, please take this humble offering to show that I am forgiven." Almost prostrate now, he picked up the scoop and placed it on Thor’s lap beneath his arms. Immediately there was a soft rumble and humming. Fearfully old Morge watched Thor’s arms come down, lift up the scoop and carry it inside his huge mouth. There was a sucking noise and the scoop was returned empty to his lap. Filled with joy, Morge spent another endless time thanking Thor. Then all of a sudden an idea seized him. What if he carried Thor back to the tribe and presented him to the priest, Thougor, for all to worship and give sacrifices to? Would not he, the despised, the looked down upon, be the greatest of heroes? All that was known of Thor were the legends, but at last they would have the actual god! Painfully, with many grunts and groans, he got Thor under one arm and staggered off towards the village, his crutch kicking up little puffs of dust. Builder was having trouble with Thougor. He almost wished now that he’d continued his search a little longer for a segment of humanity. He might have found a group less primitive who would have appreciated and understood his help much better. But this was the best he’d found; as it was, he’d wandered over the continent nearly a lifetime before even finding these poor wretches. But they were at least human--something that couldn’t be said for those _others_ he’d come in contact with all through the past years.