‘Think of your mother, Roy,’ I told him, with my lips pressed to his ear so he could hear me in the storm. ‘If you want to see her again, you must suffer for her now.’ His jaw was slack, and his eyes were rolling up under their eyelids. He was on the verge of passing out, but still he managed a feeble nod: he would fight. For me, this moment of bravery was as remarkable as any of the other acts of courage and strength that we saw in the mountains, and now, when I think of Roy, I always think of him in this moment, as a hero.
