And so, they danced. After the music stopped, Sven slipped away with a jovial wave behind him and ran back to the train to gather supplies.

The cool darkness of night had seeped in to envelop their camping spot by the time Sven returned. Most of the islanders and other Voidtreckers had packed up for the night, returning to their homes or the train, but the subdued noise of laughter and conversation still drifted in from close by. Samata would find him standing with his hands out over the fire, a peaceful expression on his face as he coaxed the flames back to vibrancy. They seemed to respond to his presence, lifting higher as though reaching up just to touch his fingers.

Barefoot as always, he'd changed from damp swimming trunks back into cargo pants and swapped-out his red hoodie for one that were a little less damp and soot-stained. And, true to his promise, he'd managed to scavenge a couple of bottles of alcohol of varying levels of fullness, some glasses, and a plate of kebabs he'd assembled using whatever variety of veg and meat chunks he'd been able to find in the kitchen, for them to roast over the fire. No seafood, for Samata's sake!