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a helicopter will arrive, land on the beach, and pick us up. We'll be saved. It'll all happen tomorrow. We have to stick it out one more day. Come on, let's get going.'

I changed direction for the third time that day. This time without hesitation. I knew that I was doing the right thing.

My feet barely obeyed my will, almost refusing to carry my weight. They couldn't stand much pressure. Every time I stepped on a rock or root, terrible pains pierced through me. When I had to climb a hill and descend the other side, it seemed an impossible effort. I had to get down and crawl, drag myself along with my elbows. But I kept my suffering to myself. She was with me. She was also injured, weak, and hungry. It was harder for her than for me. If I wasn't strong, she would break.

I have to push myself harder, hide my own feelings, and keep her morale up.

When we were climbing upward, I would bite my lip and plead with her, 'Just a little farther, my love. Yes, I know how much it hurts. Here, I'll give you a hand. One more little push. That's all. You see? We made it. We're at the top. Now we have to get down. Sit like this and slide. Slowly, take it easy. Watch out. Be careful you don't slip.'

Rocks and thorns sliced into my buttocks. I noticed with concern that the rash had spread to other parts of my body. Red dots had broken out under my armpits and around my elbows. The cut