The rains had come and gone, swelling the Great Green River and the Mother Dragon River until their banks burst and the floods brought the promise of new soil to the vast farmlands across the plain around the High City.  Now came the warming days when the venomous perfume of the waters lay cloying and thick above the flooded maze of pathways in the Sump and the damp crept with clammy fingers into everything.  These were the days that brought sickness and fear in their wake, but also a sort of peace as the inhabitants focused on rebuilding after the waters receded. Further, the first storm of the season had come early, and even the worst of the brute gangs had more pressing business today than harassing their neighbors for scraps and small coin.<br/><br/>Anba was above most of this--her chosen refuge nested high in the maze of buildings along the drier part of the Sump, not hidden so much as difficult to reach for any less nimble than she.  Thus it was with some surprise that she found an unexpected visitor waiting for her at the threshold when she returned from a morning spent seeking a morsel of food.  Said stranger was oddly clad--a half-cape over a loin-cloth that left her womanly curves displayed, sandals soaked through and muddy, a ragged satchel that seemed likely as empty as Anba's own belly.  As a last touch, she bore a longknife strapped to one thigh.  These things alone seemed out of place, for it was not that warm for any but the most rugged of mountain people, and the guest's garb was not so alluring as to be a comfort-girl's or a dancer's.  Indeed, there was a coiled energy about the Vixen that felt like a warning...for she was Fox-kind, and her pelt was a curious mottled tan, orange, black, and grey that Anba had not seen before.  Her eyes, dark and piercing, locked on to Anba's.<br/><br/>"You are Anba the Thief?"  The woman's accent was as odd as her appearance.  "I am told you are the one I seek."  A quick flash of pink betrayed the woman's nervousness, tongue licking her lips.  "I have a proposal, if you will but hear it."<br/><br/>She then sketched a bow with clasped hands, an imperfect reflection of a warrior's courtesy to another, as though she had often seen the gesture but not truly understood the rules which governed it.  Was this woman from the New Nations, perhaps?  One of the wildling tribes recently brought under the benevolent rule of the Great Empress and her Thousand Iron Herds?  No doubt.  Mountain-folk, at that.