19Lama had finally changed from his sandals into tennis shoes, the heavy hiking kind. We stepped from stone to stone to avoid the puddles.
The sun covered our side of the mountain, but the other side looked dark, in the shadows of the peaks across from it. I hardly noticed when we reached what looked like a dead end.
“Come, come,” said Lama, motioning forward to a trail so narrow that I was sure it wanted us to die. The crevice beside it could have been measured in miles instead of feet.
Mom looked at Lama like she wanted to kill him. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
The trail wasn’t even big enough to walk two by two.
“It’s okay, you watch, I walk first.” Lama said. “I do this many times. No problem.”
Lama led the way. Nima motioned for Mom and me to go before him, sandwiched between him
