"Keep your coins," Asen said, his voice echoing the pride of his heritage. "A man is only as rich as the songs he leaves behind and the family that remembers them."

Asen didn't argue. He simply tucked his violin under his chin and began to play.

Barvalo: Honoring the Rich, Proud Heritage of the Roma People

Asen’s wealth did not sit in a locked chest. It lived in the worn wood of his violin and the deep, gravelly warmth of his voice. He traveled from village to village, arriving just as the sun began to dip behind the peaks. While others measured their worth by the size of their herds, Asen measured his by the laughter he could pull from a grieving widow or the fire he could spark in a young lover’s eyes.

As the music faded, the merchant stood in silence. He reached into his purse to offer gold, but Asen shook his head and smiled.

: A sense of peace washed over the road, a "richness" of spirit that no coin could buy.