This seems to bring Carrie out of her trance, and she giggles, before turning to me and mouthing the words to ‘Move any Mountain’.

Altan doesn’t know what’s going on now, but he keeps smiling. ‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Let’s get you prepared.’

‘Prepared? We don’t have to, like, get our kit off or anything?’ Carrie giggles again, and I find myself doing the same. I think the smoke is affecting us.

‘Come,’ Altan says. He gestures to a space on the other side of the tent, where cushions have been arranged, seemingly for us. They are plump red-and-yellow velvet, and they look a lot more comfortable than the hard beds we’ve been forced to sleep on. Altan holds out a hand for us to take, to help us sit down. And when we’re ready, he tells us to close our eyes and breathe deeply. He chants something, slow and soothing. Then he clicks his fingers.

We open our eyes, and a small boy is standing in front of us. He can’t be more than eight years old, but he has eyes that make him look like he’s seen a hundred years. He’s offering a small wooden tray.

‘Go ahead,’ Altan says, still grinning.

Carrie looks at me and raises her eyebrows. I shrug. Then I take one of the small wooden cups and she takes hers. The boy mutters something and then nods, and we knock the drinks back in one. It burns like fire down my gullet, and I feel an instant awakening inside my head. This is not the same drink as before.

The boy leans forwards with the tray and we see that there are two small wooden pipes lying on it. In the murky darkness, and with the colour of the tray, we hadn’t seen them before.

We tentatively select a pipe each. They are slim with a small cup at the end, already filled with something that I don’t recognise. A dark, crystalline substance that bounces the glow from the fairy lights as I turn the pipe from side to side, inspecting it.

‘This will help you prepare your truth,’ Altan says. He gives us a small bow.

I glance around, wondering if everyone in here has had this same treatment, or if they’re more casual about it all because they probably do it all the time. But I can’t tell. Carrie puts the pipe in her mouth, and the boy leans forwards, flicking a silver lighter. The crystal glows red, and then dulls to a sparkling amber as Carrie sucks on the pipe, drawing it in. She coughs once, waves a hand in front of her face, and then goes again. She turns to me and exhales soft, purple smoke. Then she blinks, and her eyes turn glassy in the dim light.

‘Fuck…’ she mutters, then sinks down into her cushion.