============================================================
Enter Fox
=============================================================

As Myrlight nursed her cup, wrapping her small hands around the 
pottery as if to draw warmth from it, another cold blast of air hit the
back of her neck. Behind her, the pub door closed softly, and she turned
to look.

A figure swathed in a heavy black woollen coat turned from closing
the door and moved stiffly to the nearest booth. A heavy-sleeved arm was
thrust into the front placket of the overcoat. Myrlight could see from
her perch at the bar the glitter of the embroidery and small jewelled
beads from the back of one glove. The gloved hand reached up to push 
back the hood.

A young woman of indeterminate years slid into the booth, stiffly
and without grace, apparently encumbered by the heavy riding coat. Her
pale copper hair, almost the color of Southern apricots, was mussed and
flattened from the hood. Myrlight guessed her to not be all that much
taller than she, at least as non-kender went, and she also guessed that 
the woman's bulk was not entirely from her coat.'A fat elf', Myrlight
thought, seeing a slightly pointed ear creep from beneath the straight
hair. 'Well, not all elven, but close enough.'

But the traveller looked tired and in bad spirits, and Myrlight
had not introduced herself yet. Besides, she might be able to buy herself 
another drink with a well-placed song. 

She hopped off her barstool and slid into the booth across from
the woman, who had not moved since sitting down.

"Greetings, fellow traveller!" she said brightly. "Allow me to 
introduce myself. I am Myrlight Windribbon, singer of songs, maker of
maps, procurer of unusual goods --"

The look in the woman's eyes stopped her. Myrlight, ever an
observer of her fellow beings, had been watching her carefully during her 
cut-off speech. The strangers eyes chilled Myrlight to her very bones: 
cold, pale green, so pale to almost be lost to white. The woman -- no, girl,
Myrlight revised -- was equally pale, so pale that the light freckles
which dusted her straight nose stood out like copper pennies in snow. Her
right hand was still buried in the depths of her woollen coat, which
bothered Myrlight badly.

"Oh," Myrlight murmured. "I see you want to be left to yourself.
Pray, excuse me."

As the kender slid out, the girl's gloved left hand lashed out to
grab Myrlight by the wrist. A moment procurer's distraction took Myrlight 
as she appraised the crest on the back of the glove: a black double
headed eagle on red, decorated with small black jewels. 'Sapphire beads?'
she thought. But the pressure on her wrist reminded her abruptly, and her 
few seconds' distraction evaporated into an equally cold gaze levelled at the 
captor.

"I am certain," she said icily, "you don't want me to yell for the 
barkeep."

"I need your help."

The girl's voice, colored with an accent Myrlight did not recognize, was
flat and emotionless.

"Then let go of me, and I'll consider it." Myrlight tried to
remember every haughty elf she'd ever met when coming up with the right
tone and  expression.

The girl shifted her weight, and a hiss escaped through unusually white, 
even teeth. She did not let go of Myrlight's wrist, but closed her eyes for a 
couple seconds before opening them again.

"I need a physician. A doctor. A healer. Anything."

"Are you sick?" Myrlight asked, both concerned and a little
dubious at being so close to one infected. Plague had hit this area the 
previous spring, after all.

The girl relaxed her grip, and the kender brought back her wrist, 
rubbing it. 

"I'm --  called Fox. Some lunatic in your fair city just tried to 
rearrange my intestines with a knife. A big knife."

Myrlight paled. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't have my arm in my coat for my health --" Fox started,
then paused. "I suppose, in fact, I do. The only thing keeping me
together is my fist  buried up to the knuckles in my side. My hands and
feet are burning too . . . poison, I think. I need a room and a healer.
Now. Discr--"

"Somebody get a healer! She's been stabbed!" Myrlight shouted,
leaping to her feet to help Fox to her feet. "A room! She needs a room!"

As confusion erupted around her, Fox turned tired, pain-filled
eyes to Myrlight. "_Discreetly_," she finished weakly, as she leaned 
heavily on the kender's shoulder.