The sky wore a hue of darkest blue, its horizon fading into a lighter grey. The glare of streetlights appeared to zoom through the air like shooting stars as the train sped through the cold, autumnal night. Inside the carriage, the passengers were silent except for the sounds of light breathing. Some were resting their weary heads against the windows, others upon their partners’ shoulders, and yet others were slumped over, lolling as the train skated clickety-clack between borders.

Sitting in a single seat at the front of the compartment of the sleeper train was a middle-aged, red-haired man, with a small weathered leather duffel bag clutched to his chest. He jerked awake from his intermittent unconsciousness. He seemed to have been neither fully awake nor asleep for a number of hours now. His mouth tasted acrid – the remnant profile of bitter hops from the lager he’d drunk many hours before. As he brought his gaze to the window, he recognised the profile of the hills and valleys, and the lushness of the grass muddied with pockets of water. The air pumping through the vents was fresh and crisp. They were in the North now.

The train clattered on for a few miles more, and someone in the seat behind him flicked on the overhead lamp. Its brightness in the otherwise shadowed surroundings dazzled him so that he narrowed his eyes. As he did so, the train began to slow, softly hissing as it came to a halt. The man arose, placing the duffel bag upon his seat as he buttoned his black woollen jacket with deliberation. He picked up his mauve, brown and white chevroned scarf from the chair, and fastened it around his neck before placing on a brown knitted hat. Then, he heaved the duffel bag, dense with weight, and slung it over his right shoulder. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he disembarked the train. No further passengers stirred. No one was stopping here anyway. That was always the way.

The night air was chilly. The man’s breath created soft clouds as he swaggered out of the station into a dimly lit walkway lined with hardy bushes that pushed angrily against the railings that sectioned them. His feet padded across the asphalt with a strange lightness despite his determined gaze towards his direction of travel. The path began to broaden, giving way to woodland. In the near distance were sounds of rushing water in the otherwise seemingly silent dead of the night. He’d finally arrived, not another soul in sight. But he knew better. They were already there waiting, under the bridge.