The night is full of stars; bright eyed like a child at a fair. We sleep on the ground on thin bed sheets. I can feel the pebbles jabbing into my back. I can smell the vague fruity smell that sometimes comes travelling by with the breeze. I shut my eyes and I feel as if a bright light is closing in on my face, but when I open my eyes there’s nothing.

In the early morning hours, we wake up to start trekking. The stars are now moving away; they fall behind like the backward-travelling trees alongside the train tracks. The sky is pink. I pack up things into canvas backpacks. I drink water from a flask, trying to concentrate on every small action so that I can remember it later.

We start walking, heavy footed and uncertain at first. I turn behind, checking to see if I have forgotten to soak something up. I see the depression in the soft ground where we slept, roughly our size and shape. I look at it and walk away and soon enough the wind blows away whatever little of us was left there.