Izumo eyed the water, and looked at the string of mon at his belt, and laughed. That was far more than any peasant farmer could afford, and most of the merchant class, too. "I could give you ten mon and a couple of turnips," he returned, shortly, rattling the iron-cast coins strung like beads on a bit of twine.

He took in the painted face, the elegant hands, the bright clothes. Merchant, performer, certainly eccentric. Izumo wondered who - or what - this man was. He'd always dismissed tales of kitsune tricksters as nothing but nonsense, but something about this man made belief in such things seem plausible. Noble, perhaps, or bastard noble, from the elegance and the polite speech and fine features. No peasant farmer, certainly!