Mongolia
Struggling along, I noticed something glinting up ahead to my left. A horse and rider were galloping steadily in my direction. The rider was an old man with a sunburned face, wearing dark purple Mongolian garments. He had sunglasses resting on the rim of his hat ? the type of sunglasses fighter pilots used to wear.
“Sainbaino (You all right?).” His voice was deep and dignified.
“Sain. Sainbaino?” I replied, prompted by his greeting.
“Aah. Sain,” he replied in a sonorous voice.
This was all we said to each other. He smiled broadly, then turned and sedately galloped off somewhere. (from "Against the Wind" - Poolbeg Press)
