10pm, finding rest. The different days breed a different way of feeling tired. And with the huts and shelters preparing to end their year, all the small bright spots are disappearing from the black canvas of the mountains, one by one like stars fading into void. On the other side of the lake, headlights of a larger vehicle cut through the trees along the road, drawing ghosts that haunt nervous dreams on the wild edges between civilisation and nature. Waves hitting the shore. Some rain in the trees. And not much more for what remained of the day.