I caught her in my headlamp. She might have pretty in another place but she was beyond defeat here, maybe even beyond consciousness. She was draped between the wings of two laboring guides. Her head was lolling. Her toes were dragging. That little Piper had stalled.
Suddenly I wake. It is 1:30 in the morning on the slopes of Ağrı Dağı. At 13,000 feet it is cold and dark. A light wind is blowing. Uraz hollers down from the mess tent a second time. It is unnecessary.