Barrow Fields staring in the eyes of my poor soul

Kincaid let his tongue loll to pant in the humid air. Now that Eleuthera mentioned it, the storm cell was rather oppressive and all-consuming. It was an interesting phenomenon, and not one he was sure he really appreciated — but these would all be memories, eventually. Stories to tell. He tried always to keep that in his mind's eye, allowing it to color his perspective.

"Oh, it's got us, darlin'," the male laughed, directing his attention to the clouds and then giving himself a firm shake. "But no — not that. The presence. Like somethin's watchin' us."

He gave this a moment to sink in before adding, "Y'know, I met a witch the last time I came up this way."