Shivering but rapturous, the warrior stood in the snow on a wind-beaten pass in the Alps. His olive skin was chapped and his eyes were watery from the icy wind. But he felt no discomfort. As he looked across the white peaks, he saw faint green plains in the distance. Those plains were Italy, and the twenty-nine-year-old warrior, named Hannibal, had been dreaming about this moment since he was nine years old.
- From Hannibal and Me by Andreas Kluth