"I want it," the lizard said simply.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
The fox stopped walking.
Slowly, it turned its head just enough to glance upward, ears flattening slightly.
"…Did you hear *anything* I just said?"
It exhaled through its nose, forcing patience back into its voice.
"You don't *take* things in the Night Market," the fox said flatly. "You **trade**."
It resumed walking, steps unhurried but deliberate, voice low and controlled.
"If you want spiritual bamboo wine, you exchange something of **equal value**. A pill. A talisman. Spirit stones. A spiritual plant. Anything the vendor agrees is worth the price."
A brief pause.
Then, more bluntly:
"And you don't have any of that."
The fox's steps slowed.
"You can't exactly slap a pile of half-digested corpses onto a stall and call it a deal," it muttered.
Its gaze sharpened.
"The only thing you possess that's remotely valuable—"
It tilted its head slightly, feeling the weight resting there.
"—is that storage pouch you picked up."
Silence followed.
The fox stopped completely this time.
"That pouch is your only bargaining chip," it said calmly. "And before you decide anything, understand this."
It lifted one paw, claws faintly glinting beneath the lantern light.
"Once you trade it away, it's gone. No take-backs. No killing the vendor afterward. No reclaiming it by force."
Its eyes hardened.
"That's how this place works."
The fox glanced toward the warmly lit entrance of **Moonveil Rest Pavilion**, where laughter and the soft clink of cups drifted into the night air.
"So," it said quietly, "decide."
"Do you want the wine badly enough to give up the only thing you own?"
The market buzzed on, uncaring.
And for the first time since arriving, the lizard faced a choice that couldn't be solved by hunger alone.
The fox drew a slow breath.
"You don't need to decide right now," it said evenly. "You don't have to give up your pouch. If you want the wine, I'll get it for you."
It paused, then continued.
"But it won't be free. In return, you'll need to give me—"
"My webbing."
The fox stopped.
Completely.
For a heartbeat, the noise of the Night Market seemed to dull, lantern light flickering softly around a frozen silhouette.
The lizard's voice came again, calm and certain.
"You want my webbing. I assume so, since it's the only thing I have that you seem interested in."
The fox didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Inside, its thoughts churned.
*This creature…*
*I already stopped underestimating its intelligence long ago.*
*And yet—*
*I still underestimated its observation.*
It exhaled silently.
*It noticed.*
*Not because I made it obvious.*
*But because it pays attention.*
*My glances. My focus. The way I evaluated the silk.*
*I didn't even bother hiding it—but still.*
*Piecing things together that quickly… finishing my intent before I even voiced it.*
Its tails twitched faintly.
*That isn't instinct.*
*That's awareness.*
The fox finally turned its head slightly, turquoise eyes gleaming as they looked up toward where the lizard rested, unseen.
It exhaled slowly, tension easing from its shoulders.
"…I didn't think you'd catch that so quickly," it admitted.
Its eyes lifted again, sharp—but no longer dismissive.
"I wasn't trying to hide it," the fox continued, "but that doesn't make it any less impressive."
It turned slightly, tails swaying once.
"Adding two and two together before I even finish speaking," it said. "That's rare."
It studied the air above it for another moment.
"You're right," the fox continued. "Your webbing is valuable. Extremely so. Durable. Adaptable. Capable of holding spiritual energy without rejecting it."
A pause.
"And yes," it admitted calmly, "it's what I want."
The fox straightened.
"But understand this."
Its tone sharpened—not threatening, but precise.
"I'm not trying to take advantage of you."
"If we trade, it will be **fair**."
It gestured lightly toward the pavilion.
"One measure of spiritual bamboo wine—for a measured amount of silk. No more than you can spare. The same amount you used back in the cave. No damage to your recovery."
Its gaze remained steady.
"You don't lose your pouch."
"And you don't lose your life."
The market's glow reflected faintly in its eyes.
"So," the fox said quietly, "if you're offering your web willingly…"
"…then we can talk."
And for the first time since their meeting, the exchange between fox and lizard was no longer about survival—
But negotiation—
"I agree," the lizard said simply. "I'll give you my webbing in exchange for the wine."
The fox's ears lifted.
A slow smile curved across its muzzle.
"Alright then," it said, clearly pleased. "Since we've got a deal—I'll get you what you want."
It started walking again, invisible form slipping effortlessly back into the flow of the Night Market.
Inside, its thoughts moved quickly.
*This is better than I intended.*
*I was only going to ask for enough silk to match what it used forming that cocoon.*
Its tails swayed once—controlled, but unmistakably satisfied.
*I'd have traded that for as much wine as it needed.*
*But this…*
Its smile deepened slightly.
*One measured bundle of silk for each jar of wine.*
*Clean. Repeatable. Fair.*
*And incredibly profitable.*
It glanced sideways at the lantern-lit stalls ahead.
*Still… I can't cut corners.*
*If I'm going to keep this arrangement, the wine has to be worth it.*
*If it's diluted, low-quality, or mixed with additives, it could interfere with its recovery—and that would end the trade immediately.*
The fox's gaze sharpened.
*I'll make sure it's satisfied.*
Not just to honor our deal—
But because a creature capable of producing silk like that, and reasoning like this, was far more valuable alive, healthy, and cooperative.
The fox angled toward a cluster of stalls glowing with jade-green lanterns.
"Stay still," it said lightly.
And somewhere within Rivermarch's Night Market, the first true trade between fox and lizard was about to begin.