18The cave was dank and smelled like ancient humans. Lama had said that a monk once stayed there for many years, alone, silent, just meditating.
Mom curled up in the corner and read. Water dripped onto the pages of her book. She didn’t say or do anything about it. Just changed positions to get out of its way. I was grateful that she was a serious reader. It kept her quiet.
I sat there and stared at the photo of Tendra and Karma. I wondered if we could make their sad eyes dance. I prayed we would make it to the top. Alive.
The dampness of the cave reminded me of a crypt. I worried that the rain would turn to snow and cover the opening and we couldn’t get out.
I thought about Skye’s metal casket and worried that her soul was sealed airtight in steel and couldn’t fly away.
The lamp flick
