And see there now that the chieftain is dead and burning on a grand pyre of hickory and cooking wood. His horses are slaughtered, then butchered according to tradition. Their meat is ground with his ash remains; with spices and tears and wildflowers.

Any remaining good teeth are salvaged from the pyre and worked into the mixture, which is then fed into wet skins and twisted into sausage links.

These are grilled, cooked with onions and so on. A grand feast is held; any and all may attend and partake. All who do so must eat of the prepared food with with vigor and gusto. Wine is plentiful and the sauces sublime.

Of course among the sausages are those containing a prize tooth, and those who find such a prize are deemed potential new vessels of authority with the right of leadership. They must show their found tooth to all present, and they are allowed to finish the meal in peace.

However, when the last plate is clean, these lucky souls must immediately select among themselves a single leader. This is usually settled through duel, open combat, or suicide, but diplomacy, election, or other peaceful means are not uncommon. None who have not claimed a prize may interfere.

It is, of course, an individual's perogative to simply swallow a found tooth without remark, privately relinquishing any chance at power. And it is highly likely that those with ambition will sneak a scrounged tooth into their meal and claim falsely. Only the head cook knows for sure how many prizes should be accounted for; it is the head cook's responsibility to gather the teeth from the pyre and to knead them into the ground meat in secret.

All found teeth are considered equal; gold incisors, rotten molars, pitted or pure, worn stumps or sharp, weighty bone ingots. And all must be used. As a result, it is not unheard of for spiteful rulers on their deathbed to have their teeth drilled, hollowed out, then filled with pasty poison. Or to have them pulled entirely, refusing all responsibility for succession.

Once, a sickly but benevolent leader publicly removed all but one tooth before he died, in order to favor a peaceful transition of power. However this does not completely assure such a thing, as strange things can - and usually do - happen at the feast table.

When no teeth are available, for whatever the reason, the head cook must provide one of his or her own. If ever there are no teeth found, the head cook is held accountable for a crime tantamount to treason and is executed to take the dead leader's place in a new Feast of Succession. In one notoriously famous case, an overly cruel and openly manipulative cook who had climbed to power on the backs of too many spiteful enemies found herself in hot water when all present at the Feast of Sucession - down to the last diner - conspired to swallow their prize teeth in silence. Not only did this ruin her schemes at the last moment, but it stranded her to an obvious fate when no one produced a tooth at the table.

Needless to say, the head cook in the latter years of any ruler's reign is a volatile position of power and responsiblity, much saught after by those wishing to control or to guide the fate of the tribe. This intersection of cuisine and politics, poisons and promotions, transforms the kitchen into a battleground of intrigue, plot and backstabbing.