The temple’s been abandoned for a century at least. It’s really nothing more than a stone altar that, in all honesty, could have been just a rock. But Merlin can sense it. The residue of worship in the old stone and the trees. People had come here. They had prayed. They poured their hopes and fears and dreams into this air, they murdered pigs here and the hot blood spilled and stained the ground. It’s in the roots and in the bark. Its faith. He smells it.
