"DEMONS could be here" he thought, "I've never been in this wilderness before. There could be DEMONS anywhere." The cool wind felt good against his habit. "I HATE DEMONS" he thought. Chanting reverberated his entire chest, making it pulsate even as the incense circulated through his powerful thick veins and washed away his (merited) hatred of malevolent spirits after dark. "With the faith of a mustard, you can do anything you want" he said to himself, out loud.