Chözin's craft came from his father, Tashi Dorje, among the first in Maisu to teach metalwork to anyone, free of charge. That generosity lives in his hands today: turning plain silver into gau boxes and ornaments. Worn against the body, carrying a heart willing to give.

MA — held close. A gau, a silver pendant, made to rest against the body, keeping a wish nearest to the heart.

The women of the Nayé family have always woven. Once they spun yak-down into cloth and blankets; what Drönzom inherited was the patience for the knot. Today, the same hands work waxed and cotton cord into bracelets and necklaces, fine thread, even knots, nothing rushed. Not just colour on the wrist, but the warmth of care.

NI — daily, steady. A knotted cord on the wrist, quiet and unhurried, there through the ordinary days.

One hundred and eight, the count of a mala. Some beads come from artisans scattered across the plateau; others are strung by our own small team. We choose them one by one and thread them one by one, until the strand runs smooth. Every bead you turn was once counted by another pair of hands.

PAD — one bead, one breath. Turn a bead, take a breath; one hundred and eight of them, a way of counting the quiet mind.

Above four thousand metres the air is thin, the sun fierce, the day-to-night swing past twenty degrees. Whatever survives grows slowly, snow lotus waits five or six springs to flower, spikenard roots three years before it heals, drawing sun, snow and minerals into itself, fierce and pure. Before gathering, one turns to the mountain and gives quiet thanks, taking only enough, never the root. Here, medicine is not used, it is asked for.

ME — asked, not taken. A quiet thanks to the mountain, taking only enough: these herbs are asked for, never seized.

Tibetan Thokcha is a star fallen onto the plateau. The maker calls himself not a miner but a messenger for the earth, you take only what it agrees to release. Following the lima copper formula handed down from Khyentse Wangpo more than two hundred years ago, the copper and sky-iron are annealed, hammered and shaped over the forge. The hardest metal, subdued by fire and force, becomes something worn close, to guard you.

HUM — a star, a shield. Tibetan Thokcha began as a fallen star; through fire and hammer it becomes something that guards you.