Kaom stands before us and looks out to the raging sea. He sings, calls, screams to our Ancestors to come to our aid. He offers them the Gifts of Old, a feast of heart and mind, muscle and marrow, cooked in the fire and rock of this angry land. We have not practiced these ways in so many years. Only in the darkest of times, most desperate of times, do we perform these oldest of rituals. Only here and now may we sacrifice and consume our own. Only in our King can we trust this return to our ancient selves.