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GM It was raining. A warm rain that muted the sun and carpeted the dry island. A healthy rain, one might say, one that promised green amid the desert. A beautiful rain, that splintered the horizon into a double rainbow. An uncommon rain, for these time of the year in Socotra. A rain that smelt of a storm to come. Through the rain, flew an old aircraft. World War 2, by the look of it. It sailed through the air unpetrubed by cloud or rain, looping into a curve and descending gracefully. Finally, it reached a dirt track and landed, flawlessly. The precision was remarkable, for it was only a couple of dozen of yards of taxiing until it reached right by the feet of Giang Trang, aka Xian Lou Khan, aka Tsunami. The hood of the plane opened up, and a man stood up. He was dressed in antique fighter pilot wear, complete with jacket and goggles. Sunburnt, one might say, or sunweathered, with bleached blond hair, stubble, and a handsome (if worn) face. Bizzarely, he was holding a wooden cane, one you might see an elderly gentleman (or gentlewoman) use to walk. In his other hand, a silver compass. He consulted it for a moment, and, ensuring that the needle had stopped right at Giang, introduced himself wih a short bow. "Giang Trang I presume? I am Harry Cane. Mr Murk sent me."