It grew out of the inverted cross in much the same way as a hurricane grows out of the beating of a butterfly's wing.
First, a white smoky essence curled almost gently around the base of the cross, tentatively spreading out wisps of colourless spirit into the air. As it became thicker it became more viscous and it radiated smouldering fingers into the air.
The men's chanting was almost hypnotic, it almost subdued the pain of the intense heat. I was conscious that everything about me had dried: I felt arid and brittle like a dead leaf on scorched earth.