“Lights on,” the archivist mumbles, and without a second thought, Yangsto obeys and drearily flashes a light in the speaker’s direction. The archivist’s thanks -- if it can even be called that -- are but a mere grunt of acknowledgement. Timidly and discreetly, Yangsto attempts to return to his book, but the archivist grunts again, grabbing Yangsto’s face and turning his head back to attention. Yangsto can only manage a sigh.
It isn’t long before the archivist demands the lights again, but this time, there is no answer. Flicking the lights off, Yangsto disappears into the woods. Lost physically but not emotionally, his lights are next seen far, far away, a gentle glow to illuminate a park ranger’s restoration work on a snow-lion statue. Yangsto can only manage a sigh.