"The whole plateau is on fire," the former virgin sacrifice says.  "My home, my music collection, the village -- everything we worked twenty-three dayys to build." She bursts into tears.  "And now all my friends are gone!" 

"Are those the friends who tried to burn you alive in a volcano?" you ask. 

"It's nothing personal," she replies.  "I was chosen by the volcano god to be his bride.  It really was quite an honor.  I got a tiara and a parade float and free limo service for the day -- and I get to keep the gown." 

You glance at the gown and admit that it is rather nice -- sequins and crystals in floral patterrns, a cut above the typical virgin sacrificial wear for this season. 

"How did the volcano god choose you?" you ask. 

"Well, we sent him paintings of all the virgins in the village, then he mailed back his choice -- " 

"Mailed?" 

"Yes, would you like to see the letter?" 

She pulls the foolscap out of her jerkin (which isn't as naughty as it sounds) and hands it over. 

You start reading, "'Dear Fanatical Worshipers:  I, your volcano god, would like to thank you for the really nice fruit basket you sent me, but I'm afraid it doesn't quite fulfill your obligation of one (1) virgin sacrifice, payable immediately.  In that light, pursuant to Volcanoville Metropolitan Ordinance 56.5.1 para. 3, I am selecting Candidate Number Four -- '"  You glance to the top of the letter, and raise your eyebrows.  "This letter has a return address." 

"Yes, silly.  How else would the volcano god know if his letter didn't get delivered?" 

"The return address is, 'Hilly Area, Central Northern Plateau.'  Isn't that where we are now?" 

"Well, this area is hilly, and it's in the center of the northern edge of the plateau -- but other than that, your guess is as good as mine." 

You trip over an eighteen foot pipe. 

"This thing was around the volcano, too," you say.  "Let's follow it." 

She points to the wafting smoke among the hills.  "Isn't that a house?  Let's go there."