Although the music did stop around four o’clock, people were too excited to sleep; I could still hear talking and laughter after six. I eventually struggled down to the field kitchen at about half past nine, and relished the steaming coffee that was available. There were a few dozen young villagers there plus members of the various camera crews. Everyone looked dog tired after the previous night’s exertions, though the cameramen were particularly pleased with the shots they had got and an Australian soundman spoke in raptures about the fiddle playing. I walked among them exchanging hellos and chatting about plans. Most were staying in the village for another day, then heading north to get some footage of the caribou migration. I was again assured they had room for me if I was still keen to go. There was little doubt about that. As I passed among the growing breakfast crowd I became aware that I was being watched. The young man I had witnessed dancing with such intensity was hovering about, occasionally speaking to his peers but more often on his own.
