A festival story. The characters are imagined; the clothes are real.
Ilinca · the start line · 2:30 a.m.
Sixty-one headlamps came on at once, and the beech forest stepped out of the dark to meet us.
Gray trunks, smooth as bone. Fir needles beaded with dew. Down in the valley the sunrise stage slept under a tarp, and the only sounds were the race director's voice and sixty-one breaths smoking white.
"Mandatory kit," she called. "Headlamp. Spare batteries. Whistle. Foil blanket. Waterproof jacket. Phone, charged, and it stays charged. Full-length legs."
I'd checked mine four times. My legs were the Forest Wizard leggings, olive and bronze, a horn curling up the back of one thigh like something still growing.
"Very mystical," said a voice beside me. "Do they climb?"
Matei. Forester. Climber. Four races this summer: I'd won two, he'd won two, and the series came down to tonight. He was warming up in the same red joggers as always, a pale horned skull on the thigh, lime-green vines winding off it.
"Nice pajamas," I said.
"See you at the top."
He always did. And on the way down I always passed him, sweetly, with two words. Excuse me.
The horn went. Thirty kilometres, one ridge, and a finish arch in a hay meadow where the sun would rise just before seven.
✦
Matei · checkpoint two · 4:41 a.m.
I heard her before I saw her: a phone torch bobbing up the forest road, and Ilinca using words I won't repeat.
Checkpoint two was a forester's hut I knew well, a tea urn on a trestle, and Doina in a reflective bib writing numbers by gas lantern. Cut-off here was six o'clock for the back of the field. For the front, it was tea and go.
Ilinca held her headlamp in both hands like a bird that had stopped singing. The spare batteries lay on the trestle, brand new and no help at all.
"Water got in at the ford," she said. "The switch is gone."
Doina capped her pen. "No lamp, no forest. You go on within arm's reach of a runner with a working light, or you wait for the sweepers." She tapped the painted board on the hut wall: ATENȚIE, URȘI. "And nobody runs this section alone anyway. Talk the whole way. Sing, if you know any songs."
"I'll use my phone."
"Your phone is for calling Salvamont. It stays charged."
The sweepers were three hours back. Below us on the switchbacks, a single white light was climbing. Henrik, the Dane. Six minutes, maybe less.
I could drink my tea and go. Win the summer. Ilinca knew it. She lifted her chin and looked at me the way she looks at a descent.
I tightened my lamp strap and stepped to her shoulder. Arm's reach.
"Talk the whole way," I said. "You first."
✦
Ilinca · the climb · 5:10 a.m.
The trail climbed into firs so close the dark smelled of resin. Matei ran half a step behind my left shoulder, a head taller than me, and his light came over my shoulder and went wherever I went.
We talked because the forest belonged to the bears and we were guests in it.
"Why forestry?"
"Trees don't pass you on the downhill." His breathing barely moved. "Why teaching?"
"Eight-year-olds tell you exactly how slow you are."
"You say excuse me like a knife," he said.
"You say see you at the top like a promise."
He didn't answer that. On the next switchback I looked down. Henrik's light, closer. Four minutes. On the one after, three.
At the ridge, checkpoint three, a volunteer in a wool hat clapped us through. "Hai, hai, hai!" Far below, a bassline came up through the trees: the sunrise stage, awake now. Progressive psy, a kick around a hundred and thirty-four, a bassline that never stopped moving forward.
The sky over the far ridge had gone from black to slate. Not light enough. Ahead lay six kilometres of beech downhill, roots and wet leaves, in the dark.
My terrain. And not one root of it visible.
Matei's breath was warm at my ear. "Your turn now," he said. "Go. I'll keep up."
✦
Matei · the descent · 6:05 a.m.
There's a trick to lighting someone else's way. You don't look where you're going. You look where she's going.
I tilted my head until the beam lay just past her toes, and my own feet went into the gray at its edge. That was fine. My feet know this forest. Every March I walk it with a can of marking paint, and I could tell you which beech has the root like a doorstep and which ditch hides under the leaves.
And I knew her feet. I'd had a whole summer behind them. Left foot first over roots. Short quick steps on scree. A little hop over every drainage ditch, as if the ditch might take offense. I put the light where her left foot would land before she'd chosen it.
She noticed at the second ditch.
"You're not lighting your own feet."
"Don't need to."
"Matei."
"I've watched you run downhill all summer," I said. "From behind. Excellent view."
She laughed. On a descent a laugh costs you a whole breath, and she spent it anyway.
Behind us Henrik's light flashed between the trunks, gaining on every bend. Then the beeches thinned, the dark went thin and blue, and the trees let us go.
✦
Ilinca · the finish arch · 6:52 a.m.
Dew lay gray-white on the meadow, haystacks standing on their poles like sentries, and we didn't need the light anymore. Eight hundred metres of grass to the arch. Beyond it three hundred dancers swayed at the sunrise stage while the DJ held the breakdown and waited.
Henrik burst out of the trees behind us.
On flat grass I'm faster than Matei. Everyone knows it. He knew it.
"Go," he said. "It's yours."
I reached back and took his hand instead.
We crossed together, the timing mat chirping twice in one breath, just as the first sun touched the firs on the ridge and the DJ let the drop roll in. Three hundred people threw their hands into the light. Henrik came through nine seconds later and hugged us both, laughing in Danish.
The clock gave Matei and me the same second.
He was still holding my hand under the arch. Up close he smelled of resin and cold air. His eyes went to my mouth and back, and he asked the only way we'd ever spoken on a trail.
"Excuse me?"
"Yes," I said. "Excuse you."
We kissed with cold noses and warm mouths, my race number crumpling between us. The bassline rolled on under our feet, and someone near the arch whistled through their fingers.
Then the cold arrived: 41 degrees, sweat drying on my skin, my teeth starting to click. Matei jogged to the finish bags and came back holding something red.
"Pajamas," he said.
I pulled them on over my leggings, brushed fleece soft and warm all the way down, the skull riding high on my thigh, the hems pushed up at my ankles. We danced the last hour of the sunrise set in the wet grass, his hand on my back, my number still pinned crooked to my chest.
His headlamp was still on. In full daylight it made a small pale circle on the beech trunks, lighting nothing at all.
He bent his head, and I reached up and thumbed the switch, and the little circle on the trunks went out.
The leggings and the joggers from the night race
Forest Wizard has sent four strangers down a barter chain in The Trader in the Wizard Cloak and saved a Blue Ridge farm festival in The Back Way In. In the Carpathians it ran thirty kilometres through the dark. The art belongs to an old forest: horns that grow like branches, leaves, vines and roses over a fine sacred-geometry lattice, the kind of pattern you find in bark if you look long enough. Ilinca's full-length legs are the Forest Wizard Gold yoga leggings ($70), which read olive and bronze, a Flower of Life lattice under a horn curling up the back of one thigh. Matei's "pajamas" are the Forest Wizard Red joggers ($100; $105 in 2XL, $108 in 3XL): wine red and near-black, a pale horned skull on the thigh wound with lime-green vine, violet flowers and roses below.
- Yoga leggings: microfiber, 75% recycled poly / 25% elastane, 225 g/m² · four-way stretch · raised waistband · regular fit, XS–XL · dye-sublimated · keep them clear of rough surfaces, which can pull the fibers.
- Joggers: 96% recycled poly / 4% elastane, 308 g/m² · cotton-feel face, brushed vegan fleece inside · cuffed legs · side pockets · elastic waistband and drawstring · slim fit, XS–3XL; for a looser fit, order one or two sizes up.
Run your own forest in it: psychedelic leggings · joggers
What should you wear for a night trail race in the mountains?
Wear what the kit list demands, then what the dawn demands. Mountain races usually require full-length leggings or long trousers, a long-sleeved warm top that isn't cotton, a waterproof hooded jacket, a headlamp with spare batteries, a foil blanket and a charged phone. Pack a warm fleece layer in your finish bag for standing around at sunrise.
- Mandatory kit is real: Carpathian races such as the Transylvania 100K publish a full kit list, checkpoint cut-offs and spot checks by marshals. Stay on the marked route, pass every checkpoint in order and help any runner in difficulty.
- Carry a second light: spare batteries won't revive a lamp whose switch has drowned at a ford. A small backup lamp weighs almost nothing.
- Bear country: the Romanian Carpathians hold Europe's largest brown bear population outside Russia, an estimated 10,400 to 12,800 bears, so run with others and keep talking. Salvamont Prahova's Bușteni team leader advises never setting out alone, letting your voices carry, and backing away slowly, facing the bear, if you meet one.
- The progressive psy dress code: forest tones, sacred geometry and fabric that moves. Leggings to run in, fleece joggers for the sunrise set.
Two of Europe's big summer psytrance gatherings carry the same spirit: O.Z.O.R.A. fills a valley at Dádpuszta, near Ozora, in neighboring Hungary, from late July into early August, with nights of 55–60°F, and Boom returns to Idanha-a-Nova, Portugal, on July 18–25, 2027, with nights in the 60s°F.
Frequently asked questions
What is mandatory kit in a trail race?
Mandatory kit is the safety gear a trail race requires every runner to carry from start to finish. Mountain lists typically include a headlamp with spare batteries, a whistle, a foil survival blanket, a waterproof hooded jacket, a warm top, full-length legs, water, emergency food and a charged phone. Marshals check it, and missing items mean penalties or disqualification.
Are there bears in the Carpathian Mountains?
Yes. The Romanian Carpathians are home to the largest brown bear population in Europe outside Russia. A preliminary genetic study released by Romania's Environment Ministry in 2025 estimated roughly 10,400 to 12,800 bears nationwide. Hikers and runners are advised to travel with companions, talk or make noise as they go, and never feed a bear.
What is progressive psytrance?
Progressive psytrance, or progressive psy, is the slower, groove-led side of psychedelic trance, usually around 134 to 138 BPM. It borrows from progressive house and minimal techno: rolling basslines, long builds and layers that shift gradually over many minutes. That patient, hypnotic drive makes it a favorite for forest dance floors and long sunrise sets.
Written by Magus & Lylyth Fawn, the Los Angeles artists behind Magus Fawn. Magus makes VR and digital visionary art and produces Psy EDM. Lylyth makes fractal digital art and runs design and customer care. We've been selling wearable art since 2020 on Etsy (4.7★ from 144 reviews as of October 2026) and here at magusfawn.com. Come say hi on Instagram @magusfawn.
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