A few loaves of hard bread have already been brought forth from your tribe's supplies, and you pick one up now. Walking over to one of your warriors, you tear off a small chunk, hand it to her, and move on to the next.
"Who among us" you say, "remembers the tale of Makor the Pilgrim, who visited the great chieftain Zelousek, and made a banquet of the crumbs that fell from his table?" You point at the cask that contains the Water of Urud. "Would you so quickly turn to foreign gods? Like Makor, if we but have faith in our own—in Svarog, Ziva, and Veles—these scraps of bread will become loaves, and a piece of salted meat will be a leg of mutton roasting over the fire."
"The gods are powerful, true," says one of the warriors, "but they are like the wind and the rain. Their gaze is broad, and it falls on us from afar. What do they care if I go hungry while another is fed? It is as it always has been. If I am to get what I want, I must help myself."
He reaches for one of the loaves and tears it in two, taking half for himself. Seeing that they must act quickly if they are to be fed at all, the other tribespeople swarm forward to take the available food. Raised voices and angry words soon follow, and by the time order is restored, the food is gone, leaving many of your tribespeople hungry while the strongest and greediest have their fill.
There is still a little time left this evening—likely enough for two more actions.