gns.thegraveyardvultures

　　SABAT HAD smelled evil in the air for the past hour; a cloying cold mustiness that was stronger than the scent of the pine trees and belied the balmy late spring atmosphere. The silence, too, was noticeable. The absence of birdsong and the soughing of the mountain breeze seemed to have lapsed into a calm where not even a leaf rustled. As though the world held its breath and waited.　　　　The tall man in the dark, travel-stained and crumpled suit shrugged off the uneasiness he felt with a deliberate effort, paused on the long steep forest path to wipe the sweat from his high brow and aquiline features. A dry tongue flicked the fringes of his jet black moustache and his narrow, deep-sunken eye

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