The Yak was very, very hairy indeed and the man was absolutely bristling
with cameras. They had been travelling for days and days and days and
were both completely exhausted. The man was virtually at deaths door.
Now the Yak made it's way up the high mountain pass and eventually found
his way to the desolate monastery nestled amidst the high mountain peaks.
With it's last dying effort the Yak raised its two knurled and twisted horns
and managed two knock three times. Thud, Thud, Thud.
It then collapsed close to death onto the harsh blanket of snow that
had drifted up against the giant wooden doors.
The monks took the man and his Yak into the monastery.
They fed and watered the Yak and put it in their best stable.
It lay recovering on a bed of the finest, golden lowland hay.
While it lay the monks tended it's frost-bitten wounds and haggard coat,
cleaned and polished it's two knurled and twisted horns and warmed
it's chilled body with a silent crescent shaped vigil of twenty monks
bearing gigantic oil filled lamps.
The man himself was taken to the Royal Guest Suite of the monastery.
The room was regal indeed with giant tapestries woven with gold thread,
priceless ornaments and a luxurious hand carved wooden four poster bed
with huge pillows stuffed with down and silk sheets embroidered with the most beautiful
shimmering silver motifs depicting the glory and wealth of the richest monastery
in all of the land.
There he stayed for many days until he recovered consciousness.
When he awoke he just lay there taking in the wonderful, dreamlike surroundings
thinking he must have died and gone to heaven.
Not long after he had woken there came a gentle knock on the door
and in came the head monk.
He approached the man and asked him if he was well, the man still in awe of his
surroundings asked in turn where he was.
The head monk explained to him that he was in the desolate monastery nestled
amidst the high mountain peaks and that it had taken many days of nursing for
him to recover.
He then told the man that he was now fit enough to leave.
The man could not believe how lucky he had been, "You have been so wonderfully
kind to me, what can I do in return? I am a very rich man, can I build you
another monastery in the lowlands where the weather is warm all year round?
Literally anything you wish will be yours!"
The head monk looked at him and smiled. "We are monks, we are peace loving people
we require nothing."
Astonished, the man gazed at the monk and thought "What a guy."
Eventually after a couple more days of recuperating the man was set back on his yak
and shown the direction of the path that lead its windy way on and up yet higher
into the bleak peaks.
He waved goodbye to the three hundred monks that had gathered around the monastery
gates, and off he went bristling with cameras on his now healthy yak.
As he rounded the pass and disappeared into the distance, the monks suddenly felt the
earth beneath there feet begin to shake.
As the tremors grew stronger plaster began falling from the outer walls of the monastery
and before long there was a final enormous quake and the entire building collapsed in
on itself in a cloud of dust!
In the disaster half the monks lost there lives and things were never the same.
Once upon a time there was a man on a Yak.
The Yak was very, very hairy indeed and the man was absolutely bristling
with cameras. They had been travelling for days and days and days and
were both completely exhausted. The man was virtually at deaths door.
Now the Yak made it's way up the high mountain pass and eventually found
his way to the desolate monastery nestled amidst the high mountain peaks.
With it's last dying effort the Yak raised its two knurled and twisted horns
and managed two knock three times. Thud, Thud, Thud.
It then collapsed close to death onto the harsh blanket of snow that
had drifted up against the wooden doors.
The monks took the man and his Yak into the monastery.
They fed and watered the Yak and put it in their best stable.
It lay recovering on a bed of mountain hay.
While it lay the monks tended it's frost-bitten wounds and haggard coat,
cleaned and polished it's two knurled and twisted horns and warmed
it's chilled body with a silent crescent shaped vigil of ten monks
bearing large candles.
The man himself was taken to the head monks private suite.
The room had the luxurious hand carved wooden four poster bed, recovered from
the guest room that had been destroyed.
Remnants of the silk sheets embroidered with the most beautiful shimmering
silver motifs had been stitched together to make a still beautiful covering for
the enormous bed.
One Large duck down pillow remained.
There he stayed for many days until he recovered consciousness.
When he awoke he just lay there taking in the large comfortable room surrounding him,
wondering where he was and how lucky he was to be alive.
Not long after he had woken there came a gentle knock on the door
and in came the head monk.
He approached the man and asked him if he was well, the man still amazed to be alive
asked in turn where he was.
The head monk explained to him that he was in the desolate monastery nestled
amidst the high mountain peaks and that it had taken many days of nursing for
him to recover.
He then told the man that he was now fit enough to leave.
The man could not believe how lucky he had been, "You have been so wonderfully
kind to me, what can I do in return? I am a very rich man, can I build you
a larger monastery and furnish it with the finest tapestries as it surely deserves or
another monastery in the lowlands where the weather is warm all year round?
Literally anything you wish will be yours!"
The head monk looked at him and smiled. "We are monks, we are peace loving people
we require nothing."
Astonished, the man gazed at the monk and thought "What a guy."
Eventually after a couple more days of recuperating the man was set back on his yak
and shown the direction of the path that lead its windy way on and up yet higher
into the bleak peaks.
He waved goodbye to the one hundred and fifty monks that had gathered around the
monastery gates, and off he went bristling with cameras on his now healthy yak.
As he rounded the pass and disappeared into the distance, the monks suddenly felt the
earth beneath there feet begin to shake.
As the tremors grew stronger plaster began falling from the outer walls of the monastery
and before long there was a final enormous quake and the entire building collapsed in
on itself in a cloud of dust!
In the disaster half the monks lost there lives and things were never the same.
Once upon a time there was a man on a Yak.
The Yak was very, very hairy indeed and the man was absolutely bristling
with cameras. They had been travelling for days and days and days and
were both completely exhausted. The man was virtually at deaths door.
Now the Yak made it's way up the high mountain pass and eventually found
his way to the desolate monastery nestled amidst the high mountain peaks.
With it's last dying effort the Yak raised its two knurled and twisted horns
and managed two knock three times. Thud, Thud, Thud.
It then collapsed close to death onto the harsh blanket of snow that
had drifted up against the wooden doors.
The monks took the man and his Yak into the monastery.
They fed and watered the Yak and put it in their now open plan stable.
It lay recovering on a bed of heather and moss as that was all that was fresh
and was able to be gathered at this tine of year.
While it lay the monks tended it's frost-bitten wounds and haggard coat,
cleaned and polished it's two knurled and twisted horns and warmed
it's chilled body with sackcloth. The five stable-monks took turns in
sleeping next to the Yak to share their own body heat.
The man himself was taken to a large open dormitory, whose
occupants had been asked to share the remaining dormitory with their fellow monks.
In the room two large beds had been bolted together covered with the best cotton
sheets that could be found clean, it being mid winter and with so few monks left
to gather firewood to stoke the fires to boil and wash the monks laundry.
There was now a felt bolster where once the giant duck down pillows would have been.
There he stayed for many days until he recovered consciousness.
When he awoke he just lay there taking in the large comfortable room surrounding him,
wondering where he was and how lucky he was to be alive.
Not long after he had woken there came a gentle knock on the door
and in came the head monk.
He approached the man and asked him if he was well, the man still amazed to be alive
asked in turn where he was.
The head monk explained to him that he was in the desolate monastery nestled
amidst the high mountain peaks and that it had taken many days of nursing for
him to recover.
He then told the man that he was now fit enough to leave.
The man could not believe how lucky he had been, "You have been so wonderfully
kind to me, what can I do in return? I am a very rich man, can I build you a
monastery where every monk can have his own bedroom, a larger monastery and
furnish it with the finest tapestries as it surely deserves or
another monastery in the lowlands where the weather is warm all year round?
Literally anything you wish will be yours!"
The head monk looked at him and smiled. "We are monks, we are peace loving people
we require nothing."
Astonished, the man gazed at the monk and thought "What a guy."
Eventually after a couple more days of recuperating the man was set back on his yak
and shown the direction of the path that lead its windy way on and up yet higher
into the bleak peaks.
He waved goodbye to the seventy five monks that had gathered around the
monastery gates, and off he went bristling with cameras on his now healthy yak.
As he rounded the pass and disappeared into the distance, the monks suddenly felt the
earth beneath there feet begin to shake.
As the tremors grew stronger plaster began falling from the outer walls of the monastery
and before long there was a final enormous quake and the entire building collapsed in
on itself in a cloud of dust!
In the disaster half the monks lost there lives and things were never the same.
Once upon a time there was a man on a Yak.
The Yak was very, very hairy indeed and the man was absolutely bristling
with cameras. They had been travelling for days and days and days and
were both completely exhausted. The man was virtually at deaths door.
Now the Yak made it's way up the high mountain pass and eventually found
his way to the desolate monastery nestled amidst the high mountain peaks.
With it's last dying effort the Yak raised its two knurled and twisted horns
and managed two knock three times. Thud, Thud, Thud.
It then collapsed close to death onto the harsh blanket of snow that
had drifted up against the wooden doors.
The monks took the man and his Yak into the monastery.
They fed and watered the Yak and put it in their now open plan stable.
It lay recovering on a bed of moss as that was all that was fresh
and was able to be gathered at this tine of year.
While it lay the monks tended it's frost-bitten wounds and haggard coat,
they would have cleaned and polished it's two knurled and twisted horns
but the Yak horn polisher was sadly no longer with them.
They managed to warm it's chilled body with sackcloth. The three stable-monks took turns in
sleeping next to the Yak to share their own body heat.
The man himself was taken and given a spacious corner in a large open dormitory.
In the corner a large bed had been made up covered with a cotton
sheet uncleaned, it being mid winter and with no monks left
to gather firewood to stoke the fires to boil and wash the monks laundry.
For a place to rest a head there was now only a rolled up monks habit where once
the giant duck down pillows would have been.
There he stayed for many days until he recovered consciousness.
When he awoke he just lay there taking in the large comfortable room surrounding him,
wondering where he was and how lucky he was to be alive.
Not long after he had woken there came a gentle knock on the door
and in came the head monk.
He approached the man and asked him if he was well, the man still amazed to be alive
asked in turn where he was.
The head monk explained to him that he was in the desolate monastery nestled
amidst the high mountain peaks and that it had taken many days of nursing for
him to recover.
He then told the man that he was now fit enough to leave.
The man could not believe how lucky he had been, "You have been so wonderfully
kind to me, what can I do in return? I am a very rich man, can I re-build this tiny struggling
monastery where every monk can have his own bedroom and pillow with fresh and
laundered sheets, a larger monastery and furnish it with the finest tapestries as it surely deserves
or another monastery in the lowlands where the weather is warm all year round?
Literally anything you wish will be yours!"
The head monk looked at him and smiled. "We are monks, we are peace loving people
we require nothing."
Astonished, the man gazed at the monk and thought "What a guy."
Eventually after a couple more days of recuperating the man was set back on his yak
and shown the direction of the path that lead its windy way on and up yet higher
into the bleak peaks.
He waved goodbye to the thirty seven monks and the junior apprentice half monk,
that had gathered around the monastery gates, and off he went bristling with
cameras on his now healthy yak.
As he rounded the pass and disappeared into the distance, the monks suddenly felt the
earth beneath there feet begin to shake.
As the tremors grew stronger plaster began falling from the outer walls of the monastery
and before long there was a final enormous quake and the entire building collapsed in
on itself in a cloud of dust!
In the disaster half the monks lost there lives and things were never the same.
Once upon a time there was a man on a Yak.
The Yak was very, very hairy indeed and the man was absolutely bristling
with cameras. They had been travelling for days and days and days and
were both completely exhausted. The man was virtually at deaths door.
Now the Yak made it's way up the high mountain pass and eventually found
his way to the desolate monastery nestled amidst the high mountain peaks.
With it's last dying effort the Yak raised its two knurled and twisted horns
and managed two knock three times. Thud, Thud, Thud.
It then collapsed close to death onto the harsh blanket of snow that
had drifted up against the flimsy wooden doors.
The monks took the man and his Yak into the monastery.
They fed and watered the Yak and put it in their only stable with the two horses
and three donkeys that they had saved.
It lay recovering on a bed of old moss that was already beginning to smell really quite
bad as they now had only one stable monk who had been so busy with the
rebuilding of the monastery that he had had no time whatsoever to change
the remaining stables bedding.
While it lay the monk tended it's frost-bitten wounds and haggard coat,
he would have cleaned and polished it's two knurled and twisted horns
but the Yak horn polisher was sadly no longer with them.
He managed to warm it's chilled body with sackcloth. At night he gathered the animals
together in a tight huddle around the Yak in the hope of providing a warm embrace.
The man himself was taken and given a small corner in an open dormitory.
In the corner a bed had been made up covered with half of a cotton
sheet uncleaned, it being mid winter and with no monks left
to gather firewood to stoke the fires to boil and wash the monks laundry.
For a place to rest a head there was now only a rolled up monks habit where once
the giant duck down pillows would have been.
There he stayed for many days until he recovered consciousness.
When he awoke he just lay there taking in the large comfortable room surrounding him,
wondering where he was and how lucky he was to be alive.
Not long after he had woken there came a gentle knock on the door
and in came the head monk.
He approached the man and asked him if he was well, the man still amazed to be alive
asked in turn where he was.
The head monk explained to him that he was in the desolate monastery nestled
amidst the high mountain peaks and that it had taken many days of nursing for
him to recover.
He then told the man that he was now fit enough to leave.
The man could not believe how lucky he had been, "You have been so wonderfully
kind to me, what can I do in return? I am a very rich man, quite honestly,
I don't see how you can live a decent life under these conditions, can I re-build this tiny struggling
monastery where every monk can have his own bedroom and pillow with fresh and
laundered sheets, a larger monastery and furnish it with the finest tapestries as it surely deserves or
another monastery in the lowlands where the weather is warm all year round?
Literally anything you wish will be yours!"
The head monk looked at him and smiled. "We are monks, we are peace loving people
we require nothing."
Astonished, the man gazed at the monk and thought "What a guy."
Eventually after a couple more days of recuperating the man was set back on his yak
and shown the direction of the path that lead its windy way on and up yet higher
into the bleak peaks.
He waved goodbye to the eighteen monks and the junior (now well on the way to
becoming fully qualified) three quarters proficient monk,that had gathered around
the monastery gates, and off he went bristling with cameras on his now healthy yak.
As he rounded the pass and disappeared into the distance, the monks suddenly felt the
earth beneath there feet begin to shake.
As the tremors grew stronger plaster began falling from the outer walls of the monastery
and before long there was a final enormous quake and the entire building collapsed in
on itself in a cloud of dust!
In the disaster half the monks lost there lives and things were never the same.
Once upon a time there was a man on a Yak.
The Yak was very, very hairy indeed and the man was absolutely bristling
with cameras. They had been travelling for days and days and days and
were both completely exhausted. The man was virtually at deaths door.
Now the Yak made it's way up the high mountain pass and eventually found
his way to the desolate monastery nestled amidst the high mountain peaks.
With it's last dying effort the Yak raised its two knurled and twisted horns
and managed two knock three times. Thud, Thud, Thud.
It then collapsed close to death onto the harsh blanket of snow that
had drifted up against the flimsy wooden door.
The monks took the man and his Yak into the monastery.
They fed and watered the Yak and put it in their only stable with the one horses
and two donkeys that they had saved.
It lay recovering on the bare earth, as they now had only one stable monk who had been so
busy with the rebuilding of the monastery that he had no time whatsoever to find bedding for
the animals. While it lay the monk tended it's frost-bitten wounds and haggard coat,
he would have cleaned and polished it's two knurled and twisted horns
but the Yak horn polisher was sadly no longer with them.
He managed to warm it's chilled body by sharing his own habit. At night he gathered
the animals together in a tight huddle around the Yak in the hope of providing a warm
embrace. The man himself was taken and given a small corner in a small open dormitory.
In the corner was an uncovered bed, it being late winter and with no monks left
to gather firewood to stoke the fires to boil and wash the monks laundry.
For a place to rest a head there was now only an open space
where once the giant duck down pillows would have been.
There he stayed for many days until he recovered consciousness.
When he awoke he just lay there taking in the small room surrounding him,
wondering where he was and how lucky he was to be alive.
Not long after he had woken there came a gentle knock on the door
and in came the head monk.
He approached the man and asked him if he was well, the man still amazed to be alive
asked in turn where he was.
The head monk explained to him that he was in the desolate monastery nestled
amidst the high mountain peaks and that it had taken many days of nursing for
him to recover.
He then told the man that he was now fit enough to leave.
The man could not believe how lucky he had been, "You have been so wonderfully
kind to me, what can I do in return? I am a very rich man, quite honestly,
I don't see how you can live a decent life under these conditions, can I re-build this tiny
struggling, one horse monastery where every monk can
have his own bedroom and pillow with fresh and
laundered sheets, a larger monastery and furnish it with the finest tapestries as it surely
deserves or another monastery in the lowlands where the weather is warm all year round?
Literally anything you wish will be yours!"
The head monk looked at him and smiled. "We are monks, we are peace loving people
we require nothing."
Astonished, the man gazed at the monk and thought "What a guy."
Eventually after a couple more days of recuperating the man was set back on his yak
and shown the direction of the path that lead its windy way on and up yet higher
into the bleak peaks.
He waved goodbye to the ten monks, the junior (now fully qualified, standing proudly
with them),that had gathered around the monastery gates
and off he went bristling with cameras on his now healthy yak.
As he rounded the pass and disappeared into the distance, the monks suddenly felt the
earth beneath there feet begin to shake.
As the tremors grew stronger plaster began falling from the outer walls of the monastery
and before long there was a final enormous quake and the entire building collapsed in
on itself in a cloud of dust!
In the disaster half the monks lost there lives and things were never the same.
Once upon a time there was a man on a Yak.
The Yak was very, very hairy indeed and the man was absolutely bristling
with cameras. They had been travelling for days and days and days and
were both completely exhausted. The man was virtually at deaths door.
Now the Yak made it's way up the high mountain pass and eventually found
his way to the desolate monastery nestled amidst the high mountain peaks.
With it's last dying effort the Yak raised its two knurled and twisted horns
and managed two knock three times. Thud, Thud, Thud.
It then collapsed close to death onto the harsh blanket of snow that
had drifted up against the flimsy wooden door.
The monks took the man and his Yak into the monastery.
They fed and watered the Yak and put it in their only stable with their
one donkey that they had saved.
It lay recovering on the bare donkey poo covered earth,
as they now had no stable monks left and nobody to tend the animals.
While it lay the newly qualified monk tended it's frost-bitten wounds and haggard coat,
he would have cleaned and polished it's two knurled and twisted horns
but the Yak horn polisher was sadly no longer with them.
He managed to warm it's chilled body by sharing his own habit. At night he gathered
the yak and donkey together in a tight huddle in the hope of providing a warm
embrace. The man himself was taken and given a small corner in a tiny open dormitory.
In the corner was a pile of old straw, it being late winter and with no monks left
to gather firewood to stoke the fires to boil and wash the monks laundry. Not that they
had any beds left, the last had been cut up for firewood.
For a place to rest a head there was now only the smelly straw,
where once a pillow, a bed and before that the giant duck down pillows would have been.
There he stayed for many days until he recovered consciousness.
When he awoke he just lay there taking in the tiny room surrounding him,
wondering where he was and how lucky he was to be alive.
Not long after he had woken there came a gentle knock on the door
and in came the head monk.
He approached the man and asked him if he was well, the man still amazed to be alive
asked in turn where he was.
The head monk explained to him that he was in the desolate monastery nestled
amidst the high mountain peaks and that it had taken many days of nursing for
him to recover.
He then told the man that he was now fit enough to leave.
The man could not believe how lucky he had been, "You have been so wonderfully
kind to me, what can I do in return? I am a very rich man, quite honestly,
I don't see how you can live a decent life under these conditions, sleeping on the floor
how could you. Can I re-build this tiny struggling, one horse monastery where every monk can
have his own bedroom and pillow with fresh and
laundered sheets, a larger monastery and furnish it with the finest tapestries as it surely
deserves or another monastery in the lowlands where the weather is warm all year round?
Literally anything you wish will be yours!"
The head monk looked at him and smiled. "We are monks, we are peace loving people
we require nothing."
Astonished, the man gazed at the monk and thought "What a guy."
Eventually after a couple more days of recuperating the man was set back on his yak
and shown the direction of the path that lead its windy way on and up yet higher
into the bleak peaks.
He waved goodbye to the five monks that had gathered around the monastery gates
and off he went bristling with cameras on his now healthy yak.
As he rounded the pass and disappeared into the distance, the monks suddenly felt the
earth beneath there feet begin to shake.
As the tremors grew stronger plaster began falling from the outer walls of the monastery
and before long there was a final enormous quake and the entire building collapsed in
on itself in a cloud of dust!
In the disaster half the monks lost there lives and things were never the same.
Once upon a time there was a man on a Yak.
The Yak was very, very hairy indeed and the man was absolutely bristling
with cameras. They had been travelling for days and days and days and
were both completely exhausted. The man was virtually at deaths door.
Now the Yak made it's way up the high mountain pass and eventually found
his way to the desolate monastery nestled amidst the high mountain peaks.
With it's last dying effort the Yak raised its two knurled and twisted horns
and managed two knock three times. Thud, Thud, Thud.
It then collapsed close to death onto the harsh blanket of snow that
had drifted up against the flimsy wooden door.
The monks took the man and his Yak into the monastery.
They gave the Yak some of the stale water they had left and gently led him to a
sheltered corner of the only courtyard they had left.
It lay recovering on a patch of bare earth against the wall,
as they now had no stable, no stable monks left and nobody to tend the animals.
While it lay the newly qualified monk tended it's frost-bitten wounds and haggard coat,
he would have cleaned and polished it's two knurled and twisted horns
but the Yak horn polisher was sadly no longer with them.
He managed to warm it's chilled body by sharing his own habit. At night he lay with
the yak in a tight huddle in the hope of providing a warm embrace.
The man himself was taken and given half of the only dormitory left.
In the corner was a pile of old straw, it being late winter and with no monks left
other than the head monk and his newly qualified helper
to gather firewood to stoke the fires to boil and wash their laundry. Not that they
had any beds left, the last had been cut up for firewood.
For a place to rest his head there was now only the very, very, smelly straw,
where once a pillow, a bed and before that the giant duck down pillows would have been.
There he stayed for many days until he recovered consciousness.
When he awoke he just lay there taking in the tiny remaining room surrounding him,
wondering where he was and how lucky he was to be alive.
Not long after he had woken there came a gentle knock on the door
and in came the head monk.
He approached the man and asked him if he was well, the man still amazed to be alive
asked in turn where he was.
The head monk explained to him that he was in the desolate monastery nestled
amidst the high mountain peaks and that it had taken many days of nursing for
him to recover.
He then told the man that he was now fit enough to leave.
The man could not believe how lucky he had been, "You have been so wonderfully
kind to me, what can I do in return? I am a very rich man, quite honestly,
I don't see how you can live a decent life under these conditions, sleeping on the floor, in one
room, two of you, how could you? Can I re-build this tiny struggling monastery
with no animals, where you two monks can have your own bedroom and pillow with fresh and
laundered sheets, a larger monastery and furnish it with the finest tapestries as it surely
deserves or another monastery in the lowlands where the weather is warm all year round?
Literally anything you wish will be yours!"
The head monk looked at him and smiled. "We are monks, we are peace loving people
we require nothing."
Astonished, the man gazed at the monk and thought "What a guy."
Eventually after a couple more days of recuperating the man was set back on his yak
and shown the direction of the path that lead its windy way on and up yet higher
into the bleak peaks.
He waved goodbye to the last two monks that stood at the monastery gates
and off he went bristling with cameras on his now healthy yak.
As he rounded the pass and disappeared into the distance, the monks suddenly felt the
earth beneath there feet begin to shake.
As the tremors grew stronger plaster began falling from the outer walls of the monastery
and before long there was a final enormous quake and the entire building collapsed in
on itself in a cloud of dust!
In the disaster the newly qualified monk lost his life and the head monk knew that
things would never be the same again.
He was alone, cold, tired and faithless. In an almost dizzy dream of fear and confusion
his mind wandered to the lonely years of his childhood, when teased by cruel children
for his hideous deformity that only the life of a monk wearing a thick habit would
later be able to hide, he would play alone in the tiny, leafy garden at the edge of the wood.
Days alone left him bitter and cold to almost all he met, yet one. The old spectacle maker
would visit the garden to take a quite lunch in the cool glade. He would often notice the
crippled boy playing alone and gladly befriended him. They would talk for hours, the
boy listening to tales of far away lands, clocks and exotic timepieces, the old man
brought to tears at times with the little cripples stories about how his life had been so harsh.
Crash! The last block of the once splendid building tumbled next to him and with a
start he awoke from his sad day dream.
Why had this happened? Was it Gods' way? Was it some cruel test sent from above?
Or was it something to do with the man and the Yak? That's it, it must be, every
time he disappeared out of view the whole world began to shake!
He must find out the secret, he must know.
In blind rage he ran after the man and round out of sight beyond the pass.
He had just rounded the bend when he came to a sudden halt, before him lay the
edge of a gigantic cliff. Shaking with fear on his hands and knees he found himself
creeping towards the very edge on the drop.
Down below almost to far to see through the thick mountain haze, he could just
make out the shapes of hundreds and hundreds of Yaks and men with cameras all
lying twisted and dead from their deadly fall.
The monk looked up and to this day he never did find out what made the
monastery fall down!
The End
This story is in memory of my late brother Matthew from whom it came to me.