Hand wound back story

I was hiking in Nepal when it happened.
My Sherpa slipped on the trail.
As he slipped he fell across the path.
The yak that was carrying the oxygen tanks fell.
Well those tanks will be needed at higher elevations.
I jumped and tried to stop the yak from falling.
I was able to brace his massive weight.
His foot had gone into a python hole though.
The python in the tree must have been 60 feet.
He could have swallowed the yak, the Sherpa and the tanks.
I had to do something so I reached around them both.
With all my might I lifted both the yak and the Sherpa.
I carried them up the trail to safety from the python.
The yak thanked me and trotted off (yaks in Nepal can talk).
The Sherpa could not thank me enough.
He wanted to become my blood brother.
He pulled out a jagged knife from his belt.
He did me the honor of cutting my flesh and his own.
Our blood mingled in the cool mountain breeze.
We were one with both the mountain and the yak.
The scar may heal but the memory of that day remains.