Sunday morning, Sarah stepped out of her tent to see a two-tiered stone altar erected before the small hill behind her tent. She eyed the two monks who had accompanied the old red-robed man for a couple of minutes as they strung a streaming prayer flag over the ceremonial table. Watching them from the hill above was the wiry Tibetan with Frank by his side. The two of them were discussing something, and she had no doubt the old man knew she was looking up at him.
She hobbled over to the common area in front of the Command tent for breakfast. She wasn’t hungry, not that she had been the last five or six days. And the emotional upheaval over what to do about her future with Frank wasn’t helping, nor was the lack of sleep over the last few nights. Waking up every hour on the hour with the con
