Parched, famished, and exhausted I ascended the ridge in search of another church.

 

 

 

A short distance up from the preacher’s hovel, the church was poised on a ridge. Now a disheveled wreck, it must have once been very elegant – dwarfing the meek church I had explored the day before. Buttressed, with numerous arched windows, it seemed to mock the pastor’s house, upon which it cast a shadow.

 

 

 

Once inside the shell, I made my way to the remnants of an altar. Among the ruble of the altar, wadded into a tight ball, was another piece of tattered paper.