Winter 1875 – He Beds Down With Lions and Wrestles With Demons

“It is what I must do,” Hassan said. “I feel the devils with my skin. It aches and burns when they are around. The more there are, the more my skin itches.”

“How does your skin feel right now?” I asked.

He looked at me and narrowed his eyes. He looked at Father. “My scars feel warm. It is not a bad warmth. It is not the fire I feel when I stand before a demon. I don’t know what you are but I don’t think you are such things.”