An unpaved path dribbled down the hill from an unseen height. A squat stone idol stood sentry at the road’s introduction, grinning at an eroded bench of sympathetic make. Nat hovered in this overgrown lobby. He struggled to comprehend its meaning: the idol and the ascent beyond, the bench for waiting.
At length he shrugged. Only pointy-hatted morons bothered about such nonsense. Nat wore no such apparel.