One story follows the other. Like sediments, they lay on top of each other - condensing - sometimes with sharp edges, sometimes with barely noticeable transitions - sometimes in broad traces, sometimes with squiggly swirls - always layer by layer. And even if every story seeks its own ending, one thing is clear: as long as we find ourselves around campfires and we are strangers enough to each other, we can always go one better - there really is no end in sight.

If you're travelling through the mountains, you have to rest. Anyone who has ever been surprised by the night in impassable heights knows this. Fortunately, you don't need much. A sheltered spot, a few blankets and a campfire are all you need. With a bit of luck, the fire will attract other hikers and you can enjoy the company of strangers.

And so today, too, stories are recited one after the other. It’s easy to forget who started which story... Perhaps it was the otherwise quiet man with his brief remark "you know, the Dolomites we're on were once the bottom of the sea - millions of years ago, of course“ That makes you feel a little queasy. If you imagine yourself in the depths of the oceans - where the blackest darkness reigns...who knows who you might encounter.