AUTHOR'S NOTE: The word "aneantir" is French - it means something like the total annihilation of one's enemies. (Like when you adopt a scorched earth policy in destroying an enemy village, for example.)

Obligatory disclaimer - I don't own Avatar or anything connected with it. I'm making no money doing this - which means writing this is more or less a complete, if very enjoyable, waste of my time. ;)

Keijo eyed the half-empty streets of Taonan. Evening was approaching; the crowds that had formerly cluttered the sidewalks had thinned out to a thin trickle of humanity, and the light was beginning to fade. The sky out over the ocean was turning a pale orange as the sun dipped toward the horizon. It was about time to pack up his baker's cart for the day, he decided; it wasn't likely that there would be any more customers.

As he looked back at his cart, he suddenly became aware of a tall, dark figure lurking in an alleyway across the street. He could tell very little about it, beyond the fact that it was female – the figure told him that much. He couldn't see the woman's face; the hood of a light gray cloak was pulled up around her head. Eyes glinted at him from its depths.

The baker felt suddenly nervous. Even though the war had been over for more than seven years, he still didn't like mysterious strangers. He turned his head, looking up and down the street for a guard.

There was a silvery hiss of steel! Keijo suddenly found himself pinned against the wall of the shop behind him. Gaping in shock, he looked down to see that his limbs were trapped by small, sharp knives; they had embedded themselves through his sleeves and deep into the wood of the wall. He raised atonished eyes to see the shadowy figure approaching him calmly, her hips swaying under her black robe. She glanced at him as she began to coolly help herself to the bread on the cart; his eyes widened. She was obviously Fire Nation – her white skin, golden eyes and jet-black hair testified to that. She had a long, lean face with high cheekbones. Blandly, she stuffed a fourth loaf into the small leather satchel that was slung over her shoulder, then turned to him. One elegant black brow raised a tiny bit. "My lady thanks you for your contribution to her cause," she said. He stared, still speechless; the yellow eyes narrowed just a touch. "I would advise you to speak of this to no one." Though her voice was smooth as oil, he couldn't mistake the threat. Closing his mouth, he gulped and nodded. Her pale lips twitched into a tiny smirk. Turning away, she strode back into the alley with effortless grace, and vanished into the gathering darkness like a ghost.