I turned myself inside out for nothing that was good.
Further down the dirt path the trees began to thin out into a single line, evenly spaced. Between each tree Gregory made out a broad field of tomb stones. He whistled between his teeth; he had always pitied those people who lived next to grave yards.
Craning my neck I watched curiously as the cultists continued their chanting. They were kneeling on an inverted pentagram.
In the middle of a field he spotted an abandoned barn. Its silver-grey wood shone in the waning light of the sun; from his vantage it looked sturdy. It was still standing.
What am I, but your fate?