Our religion has highly specific sacrificial requirements; luckily, our species evolved perfectly to fulfill them. We’re called to cut off a piece of our flesh—specifically, a pincer, cilial projection, or external feeding tube—every 30th sunrise. Thankfully, it always grows back, so we can donate endlessly throughout our lives, though the pain never diminishes. Our dual throats are designed to harmonize as we sing the blessed SkyStar’s praises. To atone, we’re demanded to toss one of our young into the town’s ammonia geyser; praise SkyStar that we get spontaneously pregnant with another right away, so there’s never any shortage of offspring.