Back home, we had a saying: if you don’t like the weather, wait 15 minutes.
Around here, they say: if you don’t like the weather, make a bigger sacrifice to the gods.
(Those that disagree get sacrificed to the gods.)
So, I brushed the goat’s ashes from the altar and looked for a bigger goat.
Sadly, the goat I’d just sacrificed had been our last goat.
The conversion table that came with the altar says that four chickens equals a goat.
I selected five from the coop, slammed their heads against the altar, and lit the fire.
Rain, dammit. Rain.