“It’s not as warm here as it was there,” he said.
Rishaan tried to fantasize about the bandits shooting at the train, charging through the snow on their beautiful horses. Then, almost as if the train engineer could feel their presence, the train started to pick up speed.
Rishaan loved Africa; it made him sad to think the reason they left was because he had been sick. He knew his parents loved it there. Rishaan remembered little of that time. He did remember in the six months he took to recover, he learned to speak Arabic with his Sudanese nurse. The sickness had left him with streaks of gray that was visible against his jet-black hair. His mother said it made him look very distinguished, and it certainly made people look twice at him.
It also left him with a dark secret that frightene
