As the hazy light filtered through the trees, Hami released a sigh of relief. It was as if she’d been holding her breath for the last mile along this river. The Salopeng. 56 miles of rushing waters from East to West. It’s what separates antiquity from industry; and farmers from the city. Hami thanks God that the sun is finally rising, but it will be a little while longer before she can embrace it’s warmth. The dawn’s icy breeze whips across her raw cheeks and blistered lips. With each labored thrust of the oars, her bloodied fingers are met with the surface of Salopeng’s freezing ripples. She prayed to soon see the rooftops of Agnon Capital.