Two teenagers sit on a log; their legs hang over the wood, swinging occasionally. The trees surrounding them are few and rotting, no different from the bark they sit on. Carl lifts his head to the sky, neck bent, eyes trained on the dark above. Beside him, Ant looks to his hands, humming incoherently, his dirty-blond hair tucked behind one ear.
‘Do you ever wonder if they’re up there?’ Carl asks, still looking up.