The chief grinned, he could see his tribe was anxious about getting a chance to induce more pain into their meal, Fox was yelping, but it wasn't enough for them. Musclefoot was getting all the fun, slowly shoving that spear into Fox, the bulge of it now visible in Fox's lower abdomen. The chief raised his claw and gave a call to attention. "Tribe, attention! This beast is tough and hard...we must tenderize him! Do with the beast as you will! Just make sure it is still alive to be cooked!"

Fox's eyes went as wide as saucers, but then curiously watched as all the Lightfoot left the sacrificial mound, save for Musclefoot, who himself has stopped impaling Fox, the three holding him up, and the Lightfoot tending to the fire. Everything seemed to be on pause, but Fox's heart sank when he saw the Lightfoot tribe slowly returning to the mound with blunt objects and other devices, no doubt going to be used on him. Objects included large to small wooden clubs, to even spatulas, tribal belts, and rocks. One by one, they all lined up, eager to get a turn with Fox. The four near him stepped aside slightly, to not obstruct the crowd, while Musclefoot continued to slowly push the spit into Fox's rump.

The tribe then went postal. The first walked up with his wooden club and struck Fox on his right thigh as hard as the dinosaur could, invoking a shrill shriek from Fox that was answered with a roar of approving cheers. One by one , the tribe struck Fox with whatever they had, tossing rocks at him, beating his legs and rear, strapping his back and arms with the whips and belts, each scream met with a crowd of cheers. Eventually, they began to sang and dance to celebrate Fox's pain, even while still beating him. His screams became one with the music, and the more musically inclined dinosaurs used Fox's body as a drum set, the loud thwacks of their sticks and clubs landing on his body served as drum beats. Fox hadn't even noticed the chief placing a grill over the fire, heating it up. The Lightfoot holding Fox lifted him more as the spit shoved through, keeping him straight and level as it miraculously, despite everything else, avoiding all vital organs and piercing very little. Musclefoot was no doubt skilled at spitting living meat, and keeping it alive during the process.

After an hour and a half of the savage beatings, Fox had been untied from the pole, now sporting one end of a spear sticking out of his rump, and the sharp end hanging outside his jaws, the wood shaft laying on his tongue all the way through his body. Musclefoot and his three helpers then carried Fox through the dancing crowd, Fox's translator deciphering their lyrics, all singing a song about how they were going to eat Fox. Those who had them threw rocks at him, none missing their target, others whipped him, as the foursome carried him towards the fire.