Conveyed by The Congon

The Bishop and I hailed transportation at the port as we disembarked, since speed was of the essence.

"Where are you from?" I asked the driver, hearing his accent.

"I'm Congon," he happily replied as we made our way into the city, mountains forming and impressive backdrop on this clear and sunny day.

"What brings you here, so far from your land by the river?"

"I followed a girl," he replied, and I turned a knowing grin toward The Bishop. But The Congon added, "She did not love me, and took my daughter far away."

My smile faded, and The Bishop chimed in, "But at least you are here, in a prosperous land?"

"Yes, " The Congon agreed, "it is much better than the refugee camps."

"War?" I inquired.

"No," he explained, "I was a student, and protested the corrupt government, so the tyrant closed the school and persecuted us. I fled to a neighboring land where they sent us to camps."

"So these camps were unpleasant?" The Bishop inquired.

"Yes. The people were in a terrible state - disease, no food, insects. Fortunately, good people from your country noted me as worthy to come here."

He continued, "I got a job, but met a girl - so beautiful! She had my daughter, then broke my heart by leaving me. I left my job and used my money to try to be closer to them, but they moved again. And now I'm stuck here, dreaming of my daughter and hoping one day I can make enough money to buy unspoiled land in my home country."

I felt thankful for my minor inconveniences, and when we departed The Congon's conveyence, I nodded approval as The Bishop added a few more coins to the fare.