Worshiped.

The dusk rapidly deepened; the glades grew dark; the crackling of the fire and the wash of little waves along the rocky lake shore were the only sounds audible. The wind had dropped with the sun, and in all that vast world of branches nothing stirred. Any moment, it seemed, the woodland gods, who are to be worshiped in silence and loneliness, might stretch their mighty and terrific outlines among the trees.

Algernon Blackwood, from The Wendigo