By the fourteenth day, our travel routine had been ingrained in my head. Wake before the light crests the faraway mountains, pack up camp quietly and efficiently and be on our way as soon as the donkeys were fed and hydrated. Food was scarce, warmth even more so. The long, grueling days were punctuated by brief moments of reprieve under the light of a waning moon and often heated by the embers of a recently doused fire.

Those clear nights, when everyone else had already given themselves to the dominating pull of sleep, those were the nights I could content myself with watching the stars, listening to the hushed crackle of the fire’s embers and shift my senses to my surroundings. Nature, it would seem, was amplified tenfold on such nights. The sounds of the river we were following, the chirps and hums of unseen, unknown insects, the howling of some type of wild dog, and the desperate cry of its prey.

Somehow, the world came together on those nights in some sort of simplified, animalistic way; the hunter and the hunted. I had once amused myself briefly by wondering, if I were to be caught like prey, would I let loose a desperate cry of my own, like those poor animals? Would I simply resign myself to my fate like some religious zealot resigning themselves to the fate decreed by their god? Would I fight tooth and nail to escape? I had let these thoughts consume me for an entire night, thinking up hundreds of scenarios; some a whole lot more pleasant than others. It wasn’t like I expected to get caught. I had been wrongfully accused in the first place, and the infraction had only been minor; plus, I was, by now, half way across the next country, riding on the back of a donkey. On nights not so clear and lovely, I asked myself how I always seemed to get myself into these hopeless situations.

Today was to be my last day with the small caravan. We were nearing a small town somewhere in Iran, where I would then hop a train bound for China. Though I hadn’t been with them for long, and I still didn’t know many of their names, I had been comfortable traveling in this little ragtag group. The day’s silence had always been comfortable and the nights always filled with witty, playful banter. I realized with sharp clarity how much I had truly come to enjoy our travels. As we packed up that morning, I took time to actually look at these people. I know nothing of them except their personalities. They hadn’t asked questions when I begged to join them in Yemen, and for that I was grateful.

We came upon the town faster than I had expected. It was only midday, and the train I was to catch wasn’t going to be here until that night, but my companions still had a long way to go on their journey. All I knew was that they were now headed North to Russia, and I had a sinking sensation of finality, that we would all most likely run in different circles for the rest of our lives, somehow knew that I wouldn’t be seeing any of them again. We parted ways at the station, where I dumped my things on the filthy floor and paid for a newspaper I couldn’t read. I found myself a bench hidden away and secluded from prying eyes and resigned myself to waiting for a few hours. I turned to my thoughts under the guise of staring blankly at the paper unfolded in front of me.

By the time the train arrived, I had made some sense out of a few of the news articles using Romanized names and language consistencies. I had also been able to catch a couple hours of sleep. This was to be the hard part. The train was a simple transport vehicle, not a passenger train. It had been scheduled to stop and refuel in this town, so I had very little time to get myself and my meager belongings hidden in one of the boxcars while avoiding train staff who may or may not check the cars before departure.

As the driver made his way out of the train and over to the station building, I crept back to the last car. No one was around this late at night, and the building was far enough away that I felt confident no one would hear the slight squeal of the car door sliding open. I hefted my bags in easily and hooked a leg over the edge, rolling myself into the car with minimum effort. The door squealed again as I heaved it shut behind me, but I was now more or less safe inside. I tried to get my eyes to adjust to the darkness in order to get a feel for my surroundings. Most of the car was filled with wooden crates, so it was easy enough to situate myself between the wall and one of the boxes, relatively out of sight if someone were to come looking.

About a minute later, the boxcar door squealed again, a flashlight sweeping over the contents quickly. My heart beat skyrocketed, pounding an agitating rhythm against my chest. Just as soon as the light came, it was gone again, and the door slid shut once more. A few minutes later, the train car lurched forward, and just like that, I was on my way to the other side of the continent. Now that I no longer had to worry about being found, I cracked open the car door to watch the scenery slip by, watch the stars twinkle brightly, as if they knew I was now safe. All of my previous adrenaline faded quickly from my body, and I was left exhausted. Though I had slept well the night before, and had caught a few hours of sleep at the station, I was still able to drift off to sleep quickly.

I had calculated that by morning, we would be somewhere near the border of Pakistan and India, on a more or less straight course to the coastal city of Fuzhou, and more importantly, the small towns around it. After weeks of hiding and biding my time to plan an escape, I was finally in the clear. No more hunter and prey paranoia. My life would now consist of clear nights, bright stars, and the native Chinese insects permeating the otherwise quiet atmosphere. That night, my dreams were filled with the Chinese countryside.