Chat-Error/Spice_and_wolf-Mistral
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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
***
In this village, when the ripened ears of wheat sway in the breeze, it is said that a wolf runs through them.
This is because one can make out the form of a running wolf in the shifting stalks of the wheat fields.
When the wind is too strong and the stalks are blown over, it is said that the wolf has trampled them. When the harvest is poor, it is said that the wolf has eaten it.
It was a nice turn of phrase, but it had a troublesome aspect that flawed it, she felt.
Still, lately it was a popular sort of expression, and there were few remaining who wielded it with the sort of familiarity or awe it had held in the past.
Although the autumn sky that was visible between the swaying stalks of wheat had not changed in hundreds of years, conditions below that sky had indeed changed.
The villagers who tended the wheat as the years passed lived for seventy years at the most.
Perhaps it would be worse for them to go centuries without changing.
Maybe that is why there is no need for them to honor the ancient agreement, she thought.
In any case, she knew she no longer had a place here.
The mountains that rose in the east caused the clouds over the village to drift mostly north.
She thought of her homeland beyond those drifting clouds and sighed.
Returning her gaze from the sky to the fields, her eyes fell upon her magnificent tail, which twitched just past her nose.
With nothing better to do, she set to grooming it.
The autumn sky was high and clear.
Harvest time had come again.
Many wolves were running through the wheat fields.
***
So that's the last, then?"
"Hm, looks like...seventy pelts, on the nose. Always a pleasure."
"Hey, anytime. You're the only one who'll come this far into the mountains, Lawrence. I should be thanking you."
"Ah, but for my trouble I get truly fine pelts. I'll come again."
The usual pleasantries concluded, Lawrence managed to leave the village just around five o'clock. The sun was just beginning its climb when he left, and it was midday by the time he descended from the mountains and entered the plains.
The weather was good; there was no wind. It was a perfect day for dozing in the wagon as he crossed the plains. It seemed absurd that only recently he had felt the chill of the approaching winter.
This was Lawrence's seventh year as a traveling merchant, and his twenty-fifth since birth. He gave a huge yawn in the driver's box.
There were few grasses or trees of any notable height, so he had an expansive view. At the very edge of his field of vision, he could see a monastery that had been built some years earlier.
He didn't know what young noble was cloistered in this remote location. The masonry of the building was magnificent, and unbelievably it even had an iron gate. Lawrence seemed to remember that roughly twenty monks lived there, attended to by a similar number of manservants.
When the monastery had first been built, Lawrence had anticipated fresh clientele; the monks were somehow able to secure supplies without employing independent merchants, though, so his dreams were fleeting.
Admittedly the monks lived simply, tilling their fields, so trade with them would not be especially profitable. There was another problem in that they would probably solicit donations and leave their bills unpaid.
As far as simple trade went, they were worse partners than out-and-out thieves. Still, there were times when trade with them was convenient.
Thus Lawrence looked in the direction of the monastery with some small regret, but then his eyes narrowed.
From the direction of the monastery, someone was waving at him.
"What's this?"
The figure did not look like a manservant. They wore dark brown work clothes. The waving figure was covered in gray clothing. His deliberate approach likely meant some hassle, but ignoring him could make matters worse later. Lawrence reluctantly turned his horse toward the figure.
|
As he approached the monastery and the figure became clearer, Lawrence muttered in spite of himself:
"...a knight?"
He at first dismissed the idea as ridiculous, but as he drew nearer he saw that it was unmistakably a knight. The gray clothing was in fact silver armor.
"You, there! What's your business here?"
The distance between them was still too far for conversation, which is why the knight yelled. He apparently felt no need to introduce himself, as if his position were obvious.
"I am Lawrence, a traveling merchant. Do you require my service?"
The monastery was now directly in front of him. He was close enough to count the number of servants working in the fields to the south.
He also noted that the knight in front of him was not alone. There was another one past the monastery, perhaps standing guard.
"A merchant? There's no town in the direction you came from, merchant," said the knight haughtily, sticking out his chest as if to display the golden cross that was engraved there.
But the mantle draped over his shoulders was gray, indicating a knight of low rank. His blond hair looked freshly cut, and his body did not look as if it had been though many battles; so his pride most likely came from being a new knight. It was important to deal with such men carefully. They tended to be excitable.
So instead of replying, Lawrence took a leather pouch out of his breast pocket and slowly undid the twine that held it closed. Inside were candies made of crystallized honey. He plucked one out and popped it in his mouth, then offered the open bag to the knight.
"Care for one?"
"Mmm," said the knight, hesitating momentarily before his desire for the sweet candy won out.
Still, perhaps because of his position as a knight, a considerable amount of time passed between his initial nod and when he actually reached out and took a honey drop.
"A half-day's travel east of here there's a small village in the mountains. I was trading salt there."
"Ah. I see you've a load in your cart. Salt as well?"
"No, but furs. Look," said Lawrence, turning around and removing the tarp that covered his load, revealing a bundle of magnificent marten pelts. A year's salary of the knight before him was paltry compared with its worth.
"Mm. And this?"
"Ah, this is wheat I received from the village."
The sheaf of wheat in the corner of the mountain of furs had been harvested in the village where Lawrence had traded his salt. It was hardy in cold weather and resisted insects. He planned to sell it in the northwest, where crops had sustained heavy frost damage.
"Hm. Very well. You may pass."
It was a strange way of speaking for someone who'd summoned him over so high-handedly earlier, but if Lawrence were to meekly say, "Yes, sir," now, a fine merchant he'd be.
"So, what occasions your post here, sir knight?"
The knight's brow knitted in consternation at the question and furrowed still deeper as he glanced at the bag of honey drops.
He was well and truly caught now. Lawrence undid the bag's string closure and plucked out another sweet, giving it to the knight.
"Mmm. Delicious. I should thank you."
The knight was being reasonable. Lawrence inclined his head gratefully, using his best trader's smile.
"The monks have caught wind of a big pagan festival that's approaching. Thus the increased guard. Do you know anything of this festival?"
If his face had betrayed any hint of his disappointment at the explanation, calling it a third-rate performance would have been generous. So Lawrence only affected a pained expression and answered, "Sadly, I know nothing." This was of course a huge lie, but the knight was just as mistaken, so there was nothing for it.
"Perhaps it truly is being held in secret, then. Pagans are a cowardly lot, after all." The knight was so mistaken it was amusing, but Lawrence merely agreed and took his leave.
The knight nodded and thanked him again for the honey drops.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
As he approached the monastery and the figure became clearer, Lawrence muttered in spite of himself:
"...a knight?"
He at first dismissed the idea as ridiculous, but as he drew nearer he saw that it was unmistakably a knight. The gray clothing was in fact silver armor.
"You, there! What's your business here?"
The distance between them was still too far for conversation, which is why the knight yelled. He apparently felt no need to introduce himself, as if his position were obvious.
"I am Lawrence, a traveling merchant. Do you require my service?"
The monastery was now directly in front of him. He was close enough to count the number of servants working in the fields to the south.
He also noted that the knight in front of him was not alone. There was another one past the monastery, perhaps standing guard.
"A merchant? There's no town in the direction you came from, merchant," said the knight haughtily, sticking out his chest as if to display the golden cross that was engraved there.
But the mantle draped over his shoulders was gray, indicating a knight of low rank. His blond hair looked freshly cut, and his body did not look as if it had been though many battles; so his pride most likely came from being a new knight. It was important to deal with such men carefully. They tended to be excitable.
So instead of replying, Lawrence took a leather pouch out of his breast pocket and slowly undid the twine that held it closed. Inside were candies made of crystallized honey. He plucked one out and popped it in his mouth, then offered the open bag to the knight.
"Care for one?"
"Mmm," said the knight, hesitating momentarily before his desire for the sweet candy won out.
Still, perhaps because of his position as a knight, a considerable amount of time passed between his initial nod and when he actually reached out and took a honey drop.
"A half-day's travel east of here there's a small village in the mountains. I was trading salt there."
"Ah. I see you've a load in your cart. Salt as well?"
"No, but furs. Look," said Lawrence, turning around and removing the tarp that covered his load, revealing a bundle of magnificent marten pelts. A year's salary of the knight before him was paltry compared with its worth.
"Mm. And this?"
"Ah, this is wheat I received from the village."
The sheaf of wheat in the corner of the mountain of furs had been harvested in the village where Lawrence had traded his salt. It was hardy in cold weather and resisted insects. He planned to sell it in the northwest, where crops had sustained heavy frost damage.
"Hm. Very well. You may pass."
It was a strange way of speaking for someone who'd summoned him over so high-handedly earlier, but if Lawrence were to meekly say, "Yes, sir," now, a fine merchant he'd be.
"So, what occasions your post here, sir knight?"
The knight's brow knitted in consternation at the question and furrowed still deeper as he glanced at the bag of honey drops.
He was well and truly caught now. Lawrence undid the bag's string closure and plucked out another sweet, giving it to the knight.
"Mmm. Delicious. I should thank you."
The knight was being reasonable. Lawrence inclined his head gratefully, using his best trader's smile.
"The monks have caught wind of a big pagan festival that's approaching. Thus the increased guard. Do you know anything of this festival?"
If his face had betrayed any hint of his disappointment at the explanation, calling it a third-rate performance would have been generous. So Lawrence only affected a pained expression and answered, "Sadly, I know nothing." This was of course a huge lie, but the knight was just as mistaken, so there was nothing for it.
"Perhaps it truly is being held in secret, then. Pagans are a cowardly lot, after all." The knight was so mistaken it was amusing, but Lawrence merely agreed and took his leave.
The knight nodded and thanked him again for the honey drops.
|
Not that Lawrence had any intention of giving him another piece.
"Still, a pagan festival, they say?" Lawrence repeated the knight's words to himself once the monastery was well behind him.
Lawrence had an inkling of what the knight was talking about. Actually, anyone from this area would know about it.
But it was no "pagan festival." For one thing, true pagans were farther north, or farther east.
The festival that happened here was hardly something one needed knights to guard against.
It was a simple harvest festival, of the sort to be found nearly anywhere.
True, this area's festival was somewhat grander than the typical celebration, which is probably why the monastery was keeping an eye on it and reporting to the city. The Church had long been unable to keep control over the area, which undoubtedly made it all the more nervous about goings-on.
Indeed, the Church had been eager to hold inquisitions and convert heathens, and clashes between natural philosophers and theologians in the city were far from rare. The time when the Church could command the populace's unconditional submission was vanishing.
The dignity of the institution was beginning to crumble—even if the inhabitants of the cities said nothing, all were gradually beginning to realize it. In fact, the pope had recently had to petition the monarchs of several nations for funds when tithes had come in below expectations. Such a tale would have been preposterous even ten years before.
Thus the Church was desperate to regain its authority.
"Business everywhere will suffer," said Lawrence with a rueful smile, popping another honey drop into his mouth.
The western skies were a more beautiful golden hue than the wheat in the fields by the time Lawrence arrived in the plains. Distant birds became tiny shadows as they hurried home, and here and there the frogs sang themselves to sleep.
It appeared that the wheat fields had been mostly harvested, so the festival would undoubtedly begin soon—perhaps even as soon as the day after tomorrow.
Before Lawrence lay the expanses of the village of Pasloe's fertile wheat fields. The more abundant the harvest, the more prosperous the villagers. Furthermore, the noble who managed the land, one Count Ehrendott, was a famous area eccentric who enjoyed working in the fields himself. Naturally the festival also enjoyed his support, and every year it was a riot of wine and song.
Lawrence had not once participated in it, though. Unfortunately, outsiders were not permitted.
"Ho there, good work!" Lawrence called out to a farmer driving a cart heaped high with wheat in the corner of one of the fields. It was well-ripened wheat. Those who had invested in wheat futures could breath a sigh of relief.
"What's that?"
"Might you tell me where to find Yarei?" Lawrence asked.
"Oh, Yarei'll be over yonder—see where the crowd is gathering? That field. It's all youngsters at his place this year. Whoever's slowest will wind up being the Holo!" said the farmer good-naturedly, his tan face smiling. It was the kind of guileless smile a merchant could never manage.
Lawrence thanked the farmer with his best trader's smile, and turned his horse toward Yarei's place.
Just as the farmer had said, there was a crowd gathering within its confines, and they were shouting something. They seemed to be making sport of the few who were still working the field, but it wasn't ridicule at their lateness. The jeering was part of the festival.
As Lawrence lazily approached the crowd, he was able to make out their shouting.
"There's a wolf! A wolf!"
"A wolf lies there!"
"Who will be the last and catch the wolf? Who, who, who?" the villagers shouted, their faces so cheerful one wondered if they were drunk. None of them noticed Lawrence pulling his cart up behind the crowd.
What they so enthusiastically called a wolf was in fact not a wolf at all. Had it been real, no one would have been laughing.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
Not that Lawrence had any intention of giving him another piece.
"Still, a pagan festival, they say?" Lawrence repeated the knight's words to himself once the monastery was well behind him.
Lawrence had an inkling of what the knight was talking about. Actually, anyone from this area would know about it.
But it was no "pagan festival." For one thing, true pagans were farther north, or farther east.
The festival that happened here was hardly something one needed knights to guard against.
It was a simple harvest festival, of the sort to be found nearly anywhere.
True, this area's festival was somewhat grander than the typical celebration, which is probably why the monastery was keeping an eye on it and reporting to the city. The Church had long been unable to keep control over the area, which undoubtedly made it all the more nervous about goings-on.
Indeed, the Church had been eager to hold inquisitions and convert heathens, and clashes between natural philosophers and theologians in the city were far from rare. The time when the Church could command the populace's unconditional submission was vanishing.
The dignity of the institution was beginning to crumble—even if the inhabitants of the cities said nothing, all were gradually beginning to realize it. In fact, the pope had recently had to petition the monarchs of several nations for funds when tithes had come in below expectations. Such a tale would have been preposterous even ten years before.
Thus the Church was desperate to regain its authority.
"Business everywhere will suffer," said Lawrence with a rueful smile, popping another honey drop into his mouth.
The western skies were a more beautiful golden hue than the wheat in the fields by the time Lawrence arrived in the plains. Distant birds became tiny shadows as they hurried home, and here and there the frogs sang themselves to sleep.
It appeared that the wheat fields had been mostly harvested, so the festival would undoubtedly begin soon—perhaps even as soon as the day after tomorrow.
Before Lawrence lay the expanses of the village of Pasloe's fertile wheat fields. The more abundant the harvest, the more prosperous the villagers. Furthermore, the noble who managed the land, one Count Ehrendott, was a famous area eccentric who enjoyed working in the fields himself. Naturally the festival also enjoyed his support, and every year it was a riot of wine and song.
Lawrence had not once participated in it, though. Unfortunately, outsiders were not permitted.
"Ho there, good work!" Lawrence called out to a farmer driving a cart heaped high with wheat in the corner of one of the fields. It was well-ripened wheat. Those who had invested in wheat futures could breath a sigh of relief.
"What's that?"
"Might you tell me where to find Yarei?" Lawrence asked.
"Oh, Yarei'll be over yonder—see where the crowd is gathering? That field. It's all youngsters at his place this year. Whoever's slowest will wind up being the Holo!" said the farmer good-naturedly, his tan face smiling. It was the kind of guileless smile a merchant could never manage.
Lawrence thanked the farmer with his best trader's smile, and turned his horse toward Yarei's place.
Just as the farmer had said, there was a crowd gathering within its confines, and they were shouting something. They seemed to be making sport of the few who were still working the field, but it wasn't ridicule at their lateness. The jeering was part of the festival.
As Lawrence lazily approached the crowd, he was able to make out their shouting.
"There's a wolf! A wolf!"
"A wolf lies there!"
"Who will be the last and catch the wolf? Who, who, who?" the villagers shouted, their faces so cheerful one wondered if they were drunk. None of them noticed Lawrence pulling his cart up behind the crowd.
What they so enthusiastically called a wolf was in fact not a wolf at all. Had it been real, no one would have been laughing.
|
"It's the last bundle!"
"Mind you, don't cut too far!"
"Holo flees from the greedy hand!"
"Who, who, who will catch the wolf?"
"It's Yarei! Yarei, Yarei, Yarei!"
Lawrence got off his wagon and peered at the crowd just as Yarei caught the last bundle of wheat. His face was black with sweat and soil as he grinned and hefted the wheat high, threw his head back, and howled.
"Awooooooo!"
"It's Holo! Holo, Holo, Holo!"
"Awooooooo!"
"Holo the wolf is here! Holo the wolf is here!"
"Catch it, now! Catch it quick!"
"Don't let it escape!"
The shouting men suddenly gave chase after Yarei.
The god of the bountiful harvest, once cornered, would possess a human and try to escape. Capture it and it would remain for another year.
None knew if this god truly existed. But this was an old tradition in the area.
Lawrence had traveled far and wide, so he put no stock in the teachings of the Church, but his faith in superstition was greater even than that of the farmers here. Too many times had he crossed mountains only to arrive in towns and find the price of his goods dropping precipitously. It was enough to make anyone superstitious.
Thus he didn't bat an eye at traditions that true believers or Church officials would've found outrageous.
But it was inconvenient that Yarei was this year's Holo. Now Yarei would be locked in a granary stocked with treats until the festival was over—close to a week—and would be impossible to talk to.
"Nothing for it, I suppose..." said Lawrence, sighing as he returned to his wagon and made for the village head's residence.
He had wanted to enjoy some drinks with Yarei and report on the events at the monastery, but if he didn't sell the furs that were piled high in his wagon bed, he wouldn't be able to pay for goods purchased elsewhere when the bills came due. He also wanted to sell the wheat he'd brought from the other village and couldn't wait around for the festival to end.
Lawrence talked briefly of the midday happenings at the monastery to the village head, who was busy with festival preparation. He politely declined the offer to stay the night and put the village behind him.
Years before the Count began to manage the region, it had suffered under heavy taxes that drove up the prices of its exports. Lawrence had bought some of this unfavorably priced wheat and sold it for but a meager profit. He hadn't done it to win favor with the village, but rather because he simply didn't have the resources to compete with the other merchants for the cheaper, finer grain. Nevertheless, the village was still grateful for his business then, and Yarei had been the middleman for the deal.
It was unfortunate that he couldn't enjoy a drink with Yarei, but once Holo appeared Lawrence would soon be chased out of the village as the festival came to its climax. If he'd stayed the night, he wouldn't have been able to stay long. As he sat on his wagon, Lawrence felt a sense of loneliness at being excluded thus.
Nibbling on some vegetables he'd been given as a souvenir, he took the road west, passing cheerful farmers returning from their day's work.
Having returned to his lonely travel, Lawrence envied the farmers with their friends.
Lawrence was a traveling merchant and twenty-five years old. At twelve he'd apprenticed under a relative, and at eighteen he set out on his own. There were many places he had yet to visit, and he felt that the true test of his mettle as a trader was yet to come.
Like any number of traveling merchants, his dream was to save enough money to open a shop in a town, but the dream still seemed distant. If he could seize upon a good opportunity it might not be so, but unfortunately the larger traders seized such opportunities with their money.
Nevertheless, he hauled loads of goods across the countryside in order to pay his debts in a timely fashion. Even if he saw a good opportunity, he lacked the wherewithal to seize it. To a traveling merchant, such a thing was as unreachable as the moon in the sky.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
"It's the last bundle!"
"Mind you, don't cut too far!"
"Holo flees from the greedy hand!"
"Who, who, who will catch the wolf?"
"It's Yarei! Yarei, Yarei, Yarei!"
Lawrence got off his wagon and peered at the crowd just as Yarei caught the last bundle of wheat. His face was black with sweat and soil as he grinned and hefted the wheat high, threw his head back, and howled.
"Awooooooo!"
"It's Holo! Holo, Holo, Holo!"
"Awooooooo!"
"Holo the wolf is here! Holo the wolf is here!"
"Catch it, now! Catch it quick!"
"Don't let it escape!"
The shouting men suddenly gave chase after Yarei.
The god of the bountiful harvest, once cornered, would possess a human and try to escape. Capture it and it would remain for another year.
None knew if this god truly existed. But this was an old tradition in the area.
Lawrence had traveled far and wide, so he put no stock in the teachings of the Church, but his faith in superstition was greater even than that of the farmers here. Too many times had he crossed mountains only to arrive in towns and find the price of his goods dropping precipitously. It was enough to make anyone superstitious.
Thus he didn't bat an eye at traditions that true believers or Church officials would've found outrageous.
But it was inconvenient that Yarei was this year's Holo. Now Yarei would be locked in a granary stocked with treats until the festival was over—close to a week—and would be impossible to talk to.
"Nothing for it, I suppose..." said Lawrence, sighing as he returned to his wagon and made for the village head's residence.
He had wanted to enjoy some drinks with Yarei and report on the events at the monastery, but if he didn't sell the furs that were piled high in his wagon bed, he wouldn't be able to pay for goods purchased elsewhere when the bills came due. He also wanted to sell the wheat he'd brought from the other village and couldn't wait around for the festival to end.
Lawrence talked briefly of the midday happenings at the monastery to the village head, who was busy with festival preparation. He politely declined the offer to stay the night and put the village behind him.
Years before the Count began to manage the region, it had suffered under heavy taxes that drove up the prices of its exports. Lawrence had bought some of this unfavorably priced wheat and sold it for but a meager profit. He hadn't done it to win favor with the village, but rather because he simply didn't have the resources to compete with the other merchants for the cheaper, finer grain. Nevertheless, the village was still grateful for his business then, and Yarei had been the middleman for the deal.
It was unfortunate that he couldn't enjoy a drink with Yarei, but once Holo appeared Lawrence would soon be chased out of the village as the festival came to its climax. If he'd stayed the night, he wouldn't have been able to stay long. As he sat on his wagon, Lawrence felt a sense of loneliness at being excluded thus.
Nibbling on some vegetables he'd been given as a souvenir, he took the road west, passing cheerful farmers returning from their day's work.
Having returned to his lonely travel, Lawrence envied the farmers with their friends.
Lawrence was a traveling merchant and twenty-five years old. At twelve he'd apprenticed under a relative, and at eighteen he set out on his own. There were many places he had yet to visit, and he felt that the true test of his mettle as a trader was yet to come.
Like any number of traveling merchants, his dream was to save enough money to open a shop in a town, but the dream still seemed distant. If he could seize upon a good opportunity it might not be so, but unfortunately the larger traders seized such opportunities with their money.
Nevertheless, he hauled loads of goods across the countryside in order to pay his debts in a timely fashion. Even if he saw a good opportunity, he lacked the wherewithal to seize it. To a traveling merchant, such a thing was as unreachable as the moon in the sky.
|
Additionally, when he should have been thinking about little else besides creditors, payment deadlines, and getting to the next town as quickly as possible, thoughts chased one another through his head.
Specifically, he thought of the people he'd met in his travels.
He thought of the merchants he had come to know when visiting a town repeatedly on business and the villagers he had become acquainted with at his destinations. The maidservant he'd fallen for during a long stay at an inn, waiting for a blizzard to pass. And on and on.
In short, he longed for company more and more frequently.
Such longing was an occupational hazard for merchants who spent the better part of a year alone in a wagon, but Lawrence had only recently begun to feel it. Until now, he'd always boasted that it would never happen to him.
Still, having spent so many days alone with a horse, he started to feel that it would be nice if the horse could speak.
Stories of carthorses becoming human were not uncommon among traveling merchants, and Lawrence had since the beginning laughed off such yarns as ridiculous, but lately he wondered if they could be true.
When a young merchant went to buy a horse from a horse trader, some would even recommend a mare with a completely straight face, "just in case she turns human on you."
This had happened to Lawrence, who'd ignored the advice and bought a sturdy stallion.
That same horse was working steadily in front of him even now, but as time passed and Lawrence grew lonely, he wondered if he mightn't have been better off with a mare after all.
On the other hand, that horse hauled heavy loads day in and day out. Even if it were to become a human, it seemed impossible that it would fall in love with its master or use its mysterious powers to bring them good fortune.
It would probably want to be paid and given rest, Lawrence mused.
As soon as this occurred to him, he felt that it was best if a horse stayed a horse, even if it did make him selfish. Lawrence smiled bitterly and sighed as if tired of himself.
Presently he came to a river and decided to make camp for the night. The full moon was bright, but that did not guarantee that he wouldn't fall into the river—and if that happened, calling it a "disaster" would be an understatement. He'd have to hang himself. That kind of trouble he didn't need.
Lawrence pulled back on the reins, and the horse stopped at the signal, heaving two or three sighs as it realized its long-anticipated rest was here.
Giving the rest of his vegetables to the horse, Lawrence took a bucket out of the wagon bed and drew some water from the river, setting it before the animal. As it happily slurped at the bucket, Lawrence drank some of the water he'd gotten from the village.
Wine would've been nicer, but drinking without a partner only made the loneliness worse. There was no guarantee he wouldn't get staggering drunk, either, so Lawrence decided to go to bed.
He'd halfheartedly nibbled on vegetables most of the way, so he had only a bit of beef before hopping back in the wagon bed. Normally he slept in the hempen tarp that covered the bed, but tonight he had a wagonload of marten pelts, so it would be a waste not to sleep in them. They might make him smell a bit beastly in the morning, but it was better than freezing.
But jumping right into the pelts would crush the wheat sheaf, so in order to move them aside, he whisked the tarp off the wagon bed.
The only reason he didn't shout was because the sight that greeted him was flatly unbelievable.
***
Apparently, he had a guest.
"Hey."
Lawrence wasn't sure his voice actually made a sound. He was shocked and wondered if the loneliness had finally broken him and he was hallucinating.
But after he shook his head and rubbed his eyes, his guest had not disappeared.
The beautiful girl was sleeping so soundly it seemed a shame to wake her.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
Additionally, when he should have been thinking about little else besides creditors, payment deadlines, and getting to the next town as quickly as possible, thoughts chased one another through his head.
Specifically, he thought of the people he'd met in his travels.
He thought of the merchants he had come to know when visiting a town repeatedly on business and the villagers he had become acquainted with at his destinations. The maidservant he'd fallen for during a long stay at an inn, waiting for a blizzard to pass. And on and on.
In short, he longed for company more and more frequently.
Such longing was an occupational hazard for merchants who spent the better part of a year alone in a wagon, but Lawrence had only recently begun to feel it. Until now, he'd always boasted that it would never happen to him.
Still, having spent so many days alone with a horse, he started to feel that it would be nice if the horse could speak.
Stories of carthorses becoming human were not uncommon among traveling merchants, and Lawrence had since the beginning laughed off such yarns as ridiculous, but lately he wondered if they could be true.
When a young merchant went to buy a horse from a horse trader, some would even recommend a mare with a completely straight face, "just in case she turns human on you."
This had happened to Lawrence, who'd ignored the advice and bought a sturdy stallion.
That same horse was working steadily in front of him even now, but as time passed and Lawrence grew lonely, he wondered if he mightn't have been better off with a mare after all.
On the other hand, that horse hauled heavy loads day in and day out. Even if it were to become a human, it seemed impossible that it would fall in love with its master or use its mysterious powers to bring them good fortune.
It would probably want to be paid and given rest, Lawrence mused.
As soon as this occurred to him, he felt that it was best if a horse stayed a horse, even if it did make him selfish. Lawrence smiled bitterly and sighed as if tired of himself.
Presently he came to a river and decided to make camp for the night. The full moon was bright, but that did not guarantee that he wouldn't fall into the river—and if that happened, calling it a "disaster" would be an understatement. He'd have to hang himself. That kind of trouble he didn't need.
Lawrence pulled back on the reins, and the horse stopped at the signal, heaving two or three sighs as it realized its long-anticipated rest was here.
Giving the rest of his vegetables to the horse, Lawrence took a bucket out of the wagon bed and drew some water from the river, setting it before the animal. As it happily slurped at the bucket, Lawrence drank some of the water he'd gotten from the village.
Wine would've been nicer, but drinking without a partner only made the loneliness worse. There was no guarantee he wouldn't get staggering drunk, either, so Lawrence decided to go to bed.
He'd halfheartedly nibbled on vegetables most of the way, so he had only a bit of beef before hopping back in the wagon bed. Normally he slept in the hempen tarp that covered the bed, but tonight he had a wagonload of marten pelts, so it would be a waste not to sleep in them. They might make him smell a bit beastly in the morning, but it was better than freezing.
But jumping right into the pelts would crush the wheat sheaf, so in order to move them aside, he whisked the tarp off the wagon bed.
The only reason he didn't shout was because the sight that greeted him was flatly unbelievable.
***
Apparently, he had a guest.
"Hey."
Lawrence wasn't sure his voice actually made a sound. He was shocked and wondered if the loneliness had finally broken him and he was hallucinating.
But after he shook his head and rubbed his eyes, his guest had not disappeared.
The beautiful girl was sleeping so soundly it seemed a shame to wake her.
|
"...hrm?" came the girl's defenseless response to Lawrence, her eyes still closed, her voice so sweet that it would make a poor traveling merchant—accustomed only to the brothels of the cities—lightheaded.
She had a terrifying allure despite her obvious youth, nestled there in the furs and illuminated by the moonlight.
Lawrence gulped once before returning to reason.
Given that she was so beautiful, if she was a prostitute, there was no telling how much he could be taken for if he was to so much as touch her. Considering the economics of the situation was a tonic far more effective than any prayer. Lawrence regained his composure and raised his voice once again.
"Hey, you there. What are you playing at, sleeping in someone's cart?"
The girl did not awaken.
Fed up with this girl who slept so obstinately, Lawrence grabbed the pelt that supported her head and jerked it out from under her. The girl's head flopped into the gap left by the pelt, and finally he heard her irritated squawk.
He was about to raise his voice at her again, but then he froze.
The girl had dog ears on her head.
"Mm...hah..."
Now that the girl seemed to be finally awake, Lawrence summoned his courage and spoke again.
"You there, what are you doing, climbing in my wagon bed?"
Lawrence had been robbed more than once by thieves and bandits as he crossed the countryside. He considered himself bolder and more courageous than the average person. He wasn't one to quail just because the girl in front of him happened to have the ears of an animal.
Despite the fact that the girl hadn't answered his questions, Lawrence did not pose them again.
This was because the girl, slowly awakening before him and entirely naked, was unspeakably beautiful.
Her hair, illuminated by the moonlight in the wagon, looked as soft as silk and fell over her shoulders like the finest cloak. The strands that fell down her neck to her collarbone drew a line so beautiful it put the finest painting of the Virgin Mary to shame; her supple arms were so fine they seemed carved from ice.
And exposed now in the middle of her body were her two small breasts, so beautiful they gave the impression of being carved from some inorganic material. They gave off a strangely vital scent, as if housed within her arresting charm was a warmth.
But such a fascinating spectacle could just as soon go awry.
The girl slowly opened her mouth and looked skyward. Closing her eyes, she howled.
"Auwoooooooooooo!"
Lawrence felt a sudden fear—it blew through his body like a wind.
The howl was the song a wolf would use to call its comrades, to chase and corner a human.
This was no howl like Yarei had uttered earlier. It was a true howl. Lawrence dropped the bite of beef from his mouth; his horse reared, startled.
Then he realized something.
The moonlit girl's form—with the ears on her head. The ears of a beast.
"...Hmph. 'Tis a good moon. Have you no wine?" she said, letting the howl fade away, drawing her chin up, and smiling slightly. Lawrence came back to himself at the sound of her voice.
What was before him was neither dog nor wolf. It was a beautiful girl with the ears of such an animal, though.
"I have none. And what are you? Why do you sleep in my cart? Were you to be sold in town? Did you escape?" Lawrence meant to ask as authoritatively as he could, but the girl did not so much as move.
"What, so you have no wine? Food, then...? My, such waste," said the girl unconcernedly, her nose twitching. She spied the bit of beef Lawrence had almost eaten earlier, snapping it up and popping it into her mouth.
As she chewed it, Lawrence did not fail to note the two sharp fangs behind the girl's lips.
"Are you some kind of demon?" he asked, his hand falling to the dagger at his waist.
As traveling merchants often needed to convert large amounts of currency, they often carried their money in the form of items. The silver dagger was one such item, and silver was known as a holy metal, strong against evil.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
"...hrm?" came the girl's defenseless response to Lawrence, her eyes still closed, her voice so sweet that it would make a poor traveling merchant—accustomed only to the brothels of the cities—lightheaded.
She had a terrifying allure despite her obvious youth, nestled there in the furs and illuminated by the moonlight.
Lawrence gulped once before returning to reason.
Given that she was so beautiful, if she was a prostitute, there was no telling how much he could be taken for if he was to so much as touch her. Considering the economics of the situation was a tonic far more effective than any prayer. Lawrence regained his composure and raised his voice once again.
"Hey, you there. What are you playing at, sleeping in someone's cart?"
The girl did not awaken.
Fed up with this girl who slept so obstinately, Lawrence grabbed the pelt that supported her head and jerked it out from under her. The girl's head flopped into the gap left by the pelt, and finally he heard her irritated squawk.
He was about to raise his voice at her again, but then he froze.
The girl had dog ears on her head.
"Mm...hah..."
Now that the girl seemed to be finally awake, Lawrence summoned his courage and spoke again.
"You there, what are you doing, climbing in my wagon bed?"
Lawrence had been robbed more than once by thieves and bandits as he crossed the countryside. He considered himself bolder and more courageous than the average person. He wasn't one to quail just because the girl in front of him happened to have the ears of an animal.
Despite the fact that the girl hadn't answered his questions, Lawrence did not pose them again.
This was because the girl, slowly awakening before him and entirely naked, was unspeakably beautiful.
Her hair, illuminated by the moonlight in the wagon, looked as soft as silk and fell over her shoulders like the finest cloak. The strands that fell down her neck to her collarbone drew a line so beautiful it put the finest painting of the Virgin Mary to shame; her supple arms were so fine they seemed carved from ice.
And exposed now in the middle of her body were her two small breasts, so beautiful they gave the impression of being carved from some inorganic material. They gave off a strangely vital scent, as if housed within her arresting charm was a warmth.
But such a fascinating spectacle could just as soon go awry.
The girl slowly opened her mouth and looked skyward. Closing her eyes, she howled.
"Auwoooooooooooo!"
Lawrence felt a sudden fear—it blew through his body like a wind.
The howl was the song a wolf would use to call its comrades, to chase and corner a human.
This was no howl like Yarei had uttered earlier. It was a true howl. Lawrence dropped the bite of beef from his mouth; his horse reared, startled.
Then he realized something.
The moonlit girl's form—with the ears on her head. The ears of a beast.
"...Hmph. 'Tis a good moon. Have you no wine?" she said, letting the howl fade away, drawing her chin up, and smiling slightly. Lawrence came back to himself at the sound of her voice.
What was before him was neither dog nor wolf. It was a beautiful girl with the ears of such an animal, though.
"I have none. And what are you? Why do you sleep in my cart? Were you to be sold in town? Did you escape?" Lawrence meant to ask as authoritatively as he could, but the girl did not so much as move.
"What, so you have no wine? Food, then...? My, such waste," said the girl unconcernedly, her nose twitching. She spied the bit of beef Lawrence had almost eaten earlier, snapping it up and popping it into her mouth.
As she chewed it, Lawrence did not fail to note the two sharp fangs behind the girl's lips.
"Are you some kind of demon?" he asked, his hand falling to the dagger at his waist.
As traveling merchants often needed to convert large amounts of currency, they often carried their money in the form of items. The silver dagger was one such item, and silver was known as a holy metal, strong against evil.
|
"Ah-ha-ha-ha! Me, a demon now?"
Her mouth thrown open wide enough to drop the piece of meat, the girl was so adorable as to be disarming.
Her two sharp fangs only added to her charm.
However, being laughed at made Lawrence angry.
"H-how is that so amusing?"
"Oh, it's amusing, it is! That is surely the first time I've been called a demon."
Still giggling to herself, the girl picked up the meat again and chewed it. She did have fangs. Add in her ears, and it was clear enough that she was no mere human.
"What are you?"
"Me?"
"Who but you would I be talking to?"
"The horse, say."
***
When Lawrence drew his dagger, the girl's smile disappeared. Her red-tinged amber eyes narrowed.
"What are you, I say!"
"Drawing a blade on me now? How lacking in manners."
"What?!"
"Mm. Ah, I see. My escape was successful. My apologies! I had forgotten," said the girl with a smile—a completely guileless and charming smile.
The smile didn't particularly sway him, but nevertheless Lawrence somehow felt that pointing a blade at a girl was an unseemly thing for a man to do, so he put it away.
"I am called Holo. It has been some time since I've taken this form, but, well, it is quite nice."
As the girl looked herself over approvingly, Lawrence was so caught on the first half of what she'd said that he missed the second half.
"Holo?"
"Mm, Holo. A good name, no?"
Lawrence had traveled far and wide over many lands, but there was only one place where he'd heard that name.
None other than the harvest god of the village of Pasloe.
"What a coincidence. I also know of one that goes by Holo."
It was bold of her to use the name of a god, but at least this told him that she was indeed a girl from the village. Perhaps she'd been hidden, raised in secret by her family, because of her ears and fangs. That would fit with her claim to have "escaped successfully."
Lawrence had heard talk of abnormal children like this being born. They were called demon-children, and it was thought that a devil or spirit had possessed them at birth. If the Church discovered them they—along with their families—would be burned at the stake for demon worshipping. Such children were thus either abandoned in the mountains or raised in secret.
But this was the first time Lawrence had ever actually seen such a child. He had always assumed they would be disgustingly bestial, but judging from appearance alone, this one was a plausible goddess.
"Oh, ho, I have never met another Holo. Whence do they hail?" As the girl chewed the meat, it was hard to see her trying to deceive anyone. It seemed possible that having been raised in confinement for so long, she really did believe herself to be a god.
"It is the name of this area's harvest god. Are you a god?"
At this, the girl's moonlit face was slightly troubled for a moment before she smiled.
"I have long been bound to this place and called its god. But I am nothing so great as a deity. I am merely Holo."
Lawrence guessed that this meant she'd been locked away in her home since she was born. He felt a certain sympathy for the girl.
"By 'long,' do you mean that you were born here?"
"Oh, no."
This was an unexpected answer.
"I was born far to the north."
"The north?"
"Indeed. The summers there are short and the winters long. A world of silver."
Holo's eyes narrowed as she seemed to gaze into the distance, and it was hard to imagine that she was lying. Her behavior as she reminisced about the lands of the north was too natural to be an act.
"Have you ever been there?"
Lawrence wondered if she was counterattacking, but if Holo was lying or merely repeating things she'd heard from others, he would have been able to tell immediately.
His travels as a merchant had in fact led him to the far north before.
"I've been as far as Arohitostok. The year-round blowing snow is terrifying."
"Hm. Haven't heard of it," replied Holo, inclining her head slightly.
He'd expected her to pretend to have knowledge. This was strange.
"What places do you know?" he asked.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
"Ah-ha-ha-ha! Me, a demon now?"
Her mouth thrown open wide enough to drop the piece of meat, the girl was so adorable as to be disarming.
Her two sharp fangs only added to her charm.
However, being laughed at made Lawrence angry.
"H-how is that so amusing?"
"Oh, it's amusing, it is! That is surely the first time I've been called a demon."
Still giggling to herself, the girl picked up the meat again and chewed it. She did have fangs. Add in her ears, and it was clear enough that she was no mere human.
"What are you?"
"Me?"
"Who but you would I be talking to?"
"The horse, say."
***
When Lawrence drew his dagger, the girl's smile disappeared. Her red-tinged amber eyes narrowed.
"What are you, I say!"
"Drawing a blade on me now? How lacking in manners."
"What?!"
"Mm. Ah, I see. My escape was successful. My apologies! I had forgotten," said the girl with a smile—a completely guileless and charming smile.
The smile didn't particularly sway him, but nevertheless Lawrence somehow felt that pointing a blade at a girl was an unseemly thing for a man to do, so he put it away.
"I am called Holo. It has been some time since I've taken this form, but, well, it is quite nice."
As the girl looked herself over approvingly, Lawrence was so caught on the first half of what she'd said that he missed the second half.
"Holo?"
"Mm, Holo. A good name, no?"
Lawrence had traveled far and wide over many lands, but there was only one place where he'd heard that name.
None other than the harvest god of the village of Pasloe.
"What a coincidence. I also know of one that goes by Holo."
It was bold of her to use the name of a god, but at least this told him that she was indeed a girl from the village. Perhaps she'd been hidden, raised in secret by her family, because of her ears and fangs. That would fit with her claim to have "escaped successfully."
Lawrence had heard talk of abnormal children like this being born. They were called demon-children, and it was thought that a devil or spirit had possessed them at birth. If the Church discovered them they—along with their families—would be burned at the stake for demon worshipping. Such children were thus either abandoned in the mountains or raised in secret.
But this was the first time Lawrence had ever actually seen such a child. He had always assumed they would be disgustingly bestial, but judging from appearance alone, this one was a plausible goddess.
"Oh, ho, I have never met another Holo. Whence do they hail?" As the girl chewed the meat, it was hard to see her trying to deceive anyone. It seemed possible that having been raised in confinement for so long, she really did believe herself to be a god.
"It is the name of this area's harvest god. Are you a god?"
At this, the girl's moonlit face was slightly troubled for a moment before she smiled.
"I have long been bound to this place and called its god. But I am nothing so great as a deity. I am merely Holo."
Lawrence guessed that this meant she'd been locked away in her home since she was born. He felt a certain sympathy for the girl.
"By 'long,' do you mean that you were born here?"
"Oh, no."
This was an unexpected answer.
"I was born far to the north."
"The north?"
"Indeed. The summers there are short and the winters long. A world of silver."
Holo's eyes narrowed as she seemed to gaze into the distance, and it was hard to imagine that she was lying. Her behavior as she reminisced about the lands of the north was too natural to be an act.
"Have you ever been there?"
Lawrence wondered if she was counterattacking, but if Holo was lying or merely repeating things she'd heard from others, he would have been able to tell immediately.
His travels as a merchant had in fact led him to the far north before.
"I've been as far as Arohitostok. The year-round blowing snow is terrifying."
"Hm. Haven't heard of it," replied Holo, inclining her head slightly.
He'd expected her to pretend to have knowledge. This was strange.
"What places do you know?" he asked.
|
Lawrence forced himself to say, "Don't know it," to quell the unease that rose within him. He did know of a place called Yoitsu, from an old story he'd heard at an inn in the north.
"Were you born there?" he asked.
"I was. How is Yoitsu doing these days? Is everyone well?" Holo asked, slumping slightly. It was such a fleeting gesture that it couldn't be an act.
Yet Lawrence could not possibly believe her.
After all, according to the story, the town of Yoitsu had been destroyed by ursine monsters six hundred years ago.
"Do you remember any other places?"
"Mmm...it's been so many centuries...ah, Nyohhira, there was a town called Nyohhira. It was a strange town, with hot springs. I would often go to bathe in them."
There were still hot springs in the north at Nyohhira, where royalty and nobility often visited.
But how many people in this area would even know of its existence?
Ignoring Lawrence's confused reverie, Holo spoke as if she were even now relaxing in the hot water, then suddenly she sneezed.
"Mm. I do not mind taking human form, but it is unavoidably cold. Not enough fur," said Holo, laughing and hiding herself again in the pile of marten pelts.
Lawrence couldn't help laughing at her appearance. There was something that still worried him, though, so he spoke to Holo as she snuggled into the fur pile.
"You said something about changing forms earlier—what was that about?
At his question, Holo poked her head out of the pile.
"I meant just what I said. I haven't taken human form in some time. Charming, no?" she said with a smile. Lawrence couldn't help agreeing, but he kept a straight face as he replied. The girl could make him lose his composure, that was certain.
"Aside from a few extra details, you're a human. Or what else? Are you a dog turned human, like the stories of horses turning human?"
Holo stood at the slight provocation. Turning her back to him, she looked over her shoulder at him and responded steadily.
"You can doubtless tell from my ears and tail that I am a proud wolf! My fellow wolves, the animals of the forest, and the people of the village all acknowledge me. It is of the white tip of my tail that I am proudest. My ears anticipate every misfortune and hear every lie, and I have saved many friends from many dangers. When one speaks of the Wisewolf of Yoitsu, they speak of none other than me!"
Holo sniffed proudly but soon remembered the cold and dove back under the furs. The tail at the base of her back was indeed moving.
Not just ears, then—she had a tail as well.
Lawrence thought back on her howl. It was a true wolf's howl, unmistakably. Was this then truly Holo, wolf-god of the harvest?
"No, it can't be," muttered Lawrence to himself as he reconsidered Holo. She seemed unconcerned about him as she narrowed her eyes in the warm furs. Seen thus, she was rather catlike, although that was not the issue at hand. Was Holo human or wasn't she? That was the question.
People who were actually possessed by demons didn't fear the Church because their appearance was different—rather they feared it because the demon within them could cause outward calamities for which the Church made it widely known the penalty was death at the stake.
But if Holo was instead a transformed animal like in the old tales, she might bring good fortune or perform miracles.
Indeed, if she was the Holo, god of the harvest, a wheat trader could ask for no finer companion.
Lawrence turned his attention back to Holo.
"Holo, was it?"
"Yes?"
"You said you were a wolf."
"I did."
"But all you have are a wolf's ears and tail. If you are truly a transformed wolf, you should be able to take a wolf's form."
Holo stared absently for a while at Lawrence's words before something seemed to occur to her.
"Oh, you're telling me to show you my wolf form."
Lawrence nodded at the truth of the statement but was in fact mildly surprised.
He had expected her to either be flustered or to flatly lie.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
Lawrence forced himself to say, "Don't know it," to quell the unease that rose within him. He did know of a place called Yoitsu, from an old story he'd heard at an inn in the north.
"Were you born there?" he asked.
"I was. How is Yoitsu doing these days? Is everyone well?" Holo asked, slumping slightly. It was such a fleeting gesture that it couldn't be an act.
Yet Lawrence could not possibly believe her.
After all, according to the story, the town of Yoitsu had been destroyed by ursine monsters six hundred years ago.
"Do you remember any other places?"
"Mmm...it's been so many centuries...ah, Nyohhira, there was a town called Nyohhira. It was a strange town, with hot springs. I would often go to bathe in them."
There were still hot springs in the north at Nyohhira, where royalty and nobility often visited.
But how many people in this area would even know of its existence?
Ignoring Lawrence's confused reverie, Holo spoke as if she were even now relaxing in the hot water, then suddenly she sneezed.
"Mm. I do not mind taking human form, but it is unavoidably cold. Not enough fur," said Holo, laughing and hiding herself again in the pile of marten pelts.
Lawrence couldn't help laughing at her appearance. There was something that still worried him, though, so he spoke to Holo as she snuggled into the fur pile.
"You said something about changing forms earlier—what was that about?
At his question, Holo poked her head out of the pile.
"I meant just what I said. I haven't taken human form in some time. Charming, no?" she said with a smile. Lawrence couldn't help agreeing, but he kept a straight face as he replied. The girl could make him lose his composure, that was certain.
"Aside from a few extra details, you're a human. Or what else? Are you a dog turned human, like the stories of horses turning human?"
Holo stood at the slight provocation. Turning her back to him, she looked over her shoulder at him and responded steadily.
"You can doubtless tell from my ears and tail that I am a proud wolf! My fellow wolves, the animals of the forest, and the people of the village all acknowledge me. It is of the white tip of my tail that I am proudest. My ears anticipate every misfortune and hear every lie, and I have saved many friends from many dangers. When one speaks of the Wisewolf of Yoitsu, they speak of none other than me!"
Holo sniffed proudly but soon remembered the cold and dove back under the furs. The tail at the base of her back was indeed moving.
Not just ears, then—she had a tail as well.
Lawrence thought back on her howl. It was a true wolf's howl, unmistakably. Was this then truly Holo, wolf-god of the harvest?
"No, it can't be," muttered Lawrence to himself as he reconsidered Holo. She seemed unconcerned about him as she narrowed her eyes in the warm furs. Seen thus, she was rather catlike, although that was not the issue at hand. Was Holo human or wasn't she? That was the question.
People who were actually possessed by demons didn't fear the Church because their appearance was different—rather they feared it because the demon within them could cause outward calamities for which the Church made it widely known the penalty was death at the stake.
But if Holo was instead a transformed animal like in the old tales, she might bring good fortune or perform miracles.
Indeed, if she was the Holo, god of the harvest, a wheat trader could ask for no finer companion.
Lawrence turned his attention back to Holo.
"Holo, was it?"
"Yes?"
"You said you were a wolf."
"I did."
"But all you have are a wolf's ears and tail. If you are truly a transformed wolf, you should be able to take a wolf's form."
Holo stared absently for a while at Lawrence's words before something seemed to occur to her.
"Oh, you're telling me to show you my wolf form."
Lawrence nodded at the truth of the statement but was in fact mildly surprised.
He had expected her to either be flustered or to flatly lie.
|
"I don't want to," she said plainly.
"Why not?"
"Why do you want me to?" she shot back, pouting.
Lawrence winced at her retort, but the question of whether Holo was human or not was an important one to him. Recovering from his stumble, Lawrence put as much confidence as he could muster into his voice, trying to regain the conversational initiative.
"If you were a person I would consider turning you in to the Church. Demons cause calamity, after all. But if you are really Holo, god of the harvest, in human form, then I needn't turn you in."
Were she genuine, well—tales of transformed animals acting as envoys of good fortune still remained. Far from turning her in as a demon, he would happily offer her wine and bread. If not, the situation would be different.
As Lawrence spoke, Holo wrinkled her nose, and her expression grew darker and darker.
"From what I have heard, transformed animals can change to their original forms. If you are telling the truth, you should be able to do so as well, yes?"
Holo listened with the same irritated expression. At length she sighed softly and slowly extracted herself from the pile of furs.
"I have suffered many times at the hand of the Church. I'll not be given over to them. Yet—"
She sighed again, stroking her tail as she continued. "No animal can change its form without a token. Even you humans need makeup before you can change your appearance. Likewise, I require food."
"What kind of food?"
"Only a bit of wheat."
That seemed more or less reasonable for a god of the harvest, Lawrence had to admit, but her next statement brought him up short.
"That, or fresh blood."
"Fresh...blood?"
"Only a bit, though."
Her casual tone made Lawrence feel that she couldn't be lying; his breath caught, and he glanced at her mouth. Just a moment ago, he'd seen the fangs behind those lips bite into the meat he'd dropped.
"What, are you afraid?" said Holo at Lawrence's trepidation as she smiled ruefully. Lawrence would've said "Of course not," but Holo was clearly anticipating his reaction.
But soon the smile disappeared from her face, and she looked away from him. "If you are, then I'm even more disinclined to."
"Why, then?" Lawrence asked, putting more strength into his voice, feeling that he was being made sport of.
"Because you will surely quake with fear. All, be they human or animal, look on my form and give way with awe, and treat me as special. I have tired of this treatment."
"Are you saying I would be afraid of your true form?"
"If you would pretend to be strong, you might first hide your trembling hand!" Holo said, exasperated.
Lawrence looked down at his hands, but by the time he realized his mistake it was too late.
"Heh. You're an honest sort," said an amused Holo, but before Lawrence could offer an excuse, her expression darkened again and she continued, quick as an arrow. "However, just because you are honest does not mean I should show you my form. Was what you said before the truth?"
"Before?"
"That if I am truly a wolf, you would not give me over to the Church."
"Mm..."
Lawrence had heard that there were some demons capable of illusions, so this was not a decision he could make lightly. Holo seemed to anticipate this and spoke again.
"Well, I have a good eye for both men and beasts. You are a man who keeps his word, I can tell."
Lawrence was still unable to find his tongue at the mischievous Holo's words. He certainly could go back on his word. He was understanding more and more that she was toying with him, but there was nothing he could do about it.
"I'll show you a bit, then. A full transformation is difficult. You'll forgive me if I only do my arm," said Holo, reaching down into the corner of the wagon bed.
For a moment Lawrence thought that it was some sort of special pose she had to assume, but he soon realized what she was doing. She was picking a grain of wheat from the sheaf in the corner of the wagon.
"What are you doing with that?" asked Lawrence without thinking.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
"I don't want to," she said plainly.
"Why not?"
"Why do you want me to?" she shot back, pouting.
Lawrence winced at her retort, but the question of whether Holo was human or not was an important one to him. Recovering from his stumble, Lawrence put as much confidence as he could muster into his voice, trying to regain the conversational initiative.
"If you were a person I would consider turning you in to the Church. Demons cause calamity, after all. But if you are really Holo, god of the harvest, in human form, then I needn't turn you in."
Were she genuine, well—tales of transformed animals acting as envoys of good fortune still remained. Far from turning her in as a demon, he would happily offer her wine and bread. If not, the situation would be different.
As Lawrence spoke, Holo wrinkled her nose, and her expression grew darker and darker.
"From what I have heard, transformed animals can change to their original forms. If you are telling the truth, you should be able to do so as well, yes?"
Holo listened with the same irritated expression. At length she sighed softly and slowly extracted herself from the pile of furs.
"I have suffered many times at the hand of the Church. I'll not be given over to them. Yet—"
She sighed again, stroking her tail as she continued. "No animal can change its form without a token. Even you humans need makeup before you can change your appearance. Likewise, I require food."
"What kind of food?"
"Only a bit of wheat."
That seemed more or less reasonable for a god of the harvest, Lawrence had to admit, but her next statement brought him up short.
"That, or fresh blood."
"Fresh...blood?"
"Only a bit, though."
Her casual tone made Lawrence feel that she couldn't be lying; his breath caught, and he glanced at her mouth. Just a moment ago, he'd seen the fangs behind those lips bite into the meat he'd dropped.
"What, are you afraid?" said Holo at Lawrence's trepidation as she smiled ruefully. Lawrence would've said "Of course not," but Holo was clearly anticipating his reaction.
But soon the smile disappeared from her face, and she looked away from him. "If you are, then I'm even more disinclined to."
"Why, then?" Lawrence asked, putting more strength into his voice, feeling that he was being made sport of.
"Because you will surely quake with fear. All, be they human or animal, look on my form and give way with awe, and treat me as special. I have tired of this treatment."
"Are you saying I would be afraid of your true form?"
"If you would pretend to be strong, you might first hide your trembling hand!" Holo said, exasperated.
Lawrence looked down at his hands, but by the time he realized his mistake it was too late.
"Heh. You're an honest sort," said an amused Holo, but before Lawrence could offer an excuse, her expression darkened again and she continued, quick as an arrow. "However, just because you are honest does not mean I should show you my form. Was what you said before the truth?"
"Before?"
"That if I am truly a wolf, you would not give me over to the Church."
"Mm..."
Lawrence had heard that there were some demons capable of illusions, so this was not a decision he could make lightly. Holo seemed to anticipate this and spoke again.
"Well, I have a good eye for both men and beasts. You are a man who keeps his word, I can tell."
Lawrence was still unable to find his tongue at the mischievous Holo's words. He certainly could go back on his word. He was understanding more and more that she was toying with him, but there was nothing he could do about it.
"I'll show you a bit, then. A full transformation is difficult. You'll forgive me if I only do my arm," said Holo, reaching down into the corner of the wagon bed.
For a moment Lawrence thought that it was some sort of special pose she had to assume, but he soon realized what she was doing. She was picking a grain of wheat from the sheaf in the corner of the wagon.
"What are you doing with that?" asked Lawrence without thinking.
|
The shell of the unhusked kernel was not edible. Lawrence frowned at the thought of the bitter taste in his mouth, but that thought soon vanished at the sight that came next.
"Uh, uughh..." Holo groaned, clutching her left arm and falling onto the pile of furs.
Lawrence was about to say something—this could not be an act—when a strange sound reached his ears.
Sh-sh-sh-sh. It was like the sound of mice running through the forest. It continued for a few moments, then ended with a muffled thud, like something treading on soft ground.
Lawrence was so surprised he could do nothing.
The next moment, Holo's formerly slim arm had transformed into the forepaw of some huge beast and was totally unsuited to the rest of her body.
"Mm...whew. It really doesn't look very good."
The limb appeared to be so large that she would have trouble supporting it. She rested the giant leg on the pile of furs and shifted herself to accommodate it.
"Well? Do you believe me now?" She looked up at Lawrence.
"Uh...er..." Lawrence was unable to reply, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head as he looked and looked again at the sight before him.
The leg was magnificent and coated in dark brown fur. Given the size of the leg, the full animal would be huge, roughly as big as a horse. The paw ended in huge, scythe-like claws.
And all that grew from the girl's slender shoulder. It would be strange to think it wasn't an illusion.
Unable to believe it, Lawrence finally took a skin of water and doused his face with it.
"Aren't you the doubtful one. If you still think it's an illusion, go ahead and touch it," teased Holo, smiling, curling the giant paw in a come-hither motion.
Lawrence found himself irritated, yet still he hesitated. Besides the sheer size of the limb, it also gave off a certain ineffable sense of danger.
It was the leg of a wolf. I've dealt with goods called Dragon Legs, Lawrence told himself, irritated at his cowardice. And just before his hand could touch it...
"Oh—" said Holo, seeming to remember something. Lawrence snapped his hand back.
"Wha—! What is it?"
"Mm, oh, nothing. Don't be so surprised!" said Holo, now sounding annoyed. Adding embarrassment to his fear, Lawrence became angrier and angrier at what he felt was his failure as a man. Getting hold of himself, he reached out once again.
"So, what happened?"
"Mm," said Holo meekly, looking up at Lawrence. "Be gentle, will you?"
Lawrence couldn't help stopping his hand short at her suddenly endearing manner.
He looked at her, and she looked back, grinning.
"You're rather charming, aren't you?" she said.
Lawrence said nothing as he made sure of what his hand was feeling.
He was irritated at her half-teasing manner, but there was another reason he failed to reply.
It was of course because of what he was touching.
The beast-leg that thrust from Holo's shoulder had bone as thick and solid as a tree's limb, wrapped in sinew that would be the envy of any soldier, and covering that, a magnificent coat of brown fur, from the base of the shoulder all the way down to the paw. Each pad of the paw was the size of an uncut loaf of bread. Past the soft pink toes was something denser—the scythes of her claws.
The leg was solid enough, but those claws were anything but illusory. In addition to the not warm, yet not cold sensation peculiar to animal claws, Lawrence felt a thrill at the sensation that these were not something that he should be touching.
He swallowed. "Are you really a god...?" he murmured.
"I'm no god. As you can tell from my forepaw, I am merely bigger than my comrades—bigger and cleverer. I am Holo the Wisewolf!"
The girl who so confidently called herself "wise" looked at Lawrence proudly.
She was every bit a mischievous young girl—but the aura that the beast-limb exuded was not something a mere animal could ever manage.
It had nothing to do with the size of the thing.
"So, what think you?"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
The shell of the unhusked kernel was not edible. Lawrence frowned at the thought of the bitter taste in his mouth, but that thought soon vanished at the sight that came next.
"Uh, uughh..." Holo groaned, clutching her left arm and falling onto the pile of furs.
Lawrence was about to say something—this could not be an act—when a strange sound reached his ears.
Sh-sh-sh-sh. It was like the sound of mice running through the forest. It continued for a few moments, then ended with a muffled thud, like something treading on soft ground.
Lawrence was so surprised he could do nothing.
The next moment, Holo's formerly slim arm had transformed into the forepaw of some huge beast and was totally unsuited to the rest of her body.
"Mm...whew. It really doesn't look very good."
The limb appeared to be so large that she would have trouble supporting it. She rested the giant leg on the pile of furs and shifted herself to accommodate it.
"Well? Do you believe me now?" She looked up at Lawrence.
"Uh...er..." Lawrence was unable to reply, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head as he looked and looked again at the sight before him.
The leg was magnificent and coated in dark brown fur. Given the size of the leg, the full animal would be huge, roughly as big as a horse. The paw ended in huge, scythe-like claws.
And all that grew from the girl's slender shoulder. It would be strange to think it wasn't an illusion.
Unable to believe it, Lawrence finally took a skin of water and doused his face with it.
"Aren't you the doubtful one. If you still think it's an illusion, go ahead and touch it," teased Holo, smiling, curling the giant paw in a come-hither motion.
Lawrence found himself irritated, yet still he hesitated. Besides the sheer size of the limb, it also gave off a certain ineffable sense of danger.
It was the leg of a wolf. I've dealt with goods called Dragon Legs, Lawrence told himself, irritated at his cowardice. And just before his hand could touch it...
"Oh—" said Holo, seeming to remember something. Lawrence snapped his hand back.
"Wha—! What is it?"
"Mm, oh, nothing. Don't be so surprised!" said Holo, now sounding annoyed. Adding embarrassment to his fear, Lawrence became angrier and angrier at what he felt was his failure as a man. Getting hold of himself, he reached out once again.
"So, what happened?"
"Mm," said Holo meekly, looking up at Lawrence. "Be gentle, will you?"
Lawrence couldn't help stopping his hand short at her suddenly endearing manner.
He looked at her, and she looked back, grinning.
"You're rather charming, aren't you?" she said.
Lawrence said nothing as he made sure of what his hand was feeling.
He was irritated at her half-teasing manner, but there was another reason he failed to reply.
It was of course because of what he was touching.
The beast-leg that thrust from Holo's shoulder had bone as thick and solid as a tree's limb, wrapped in sinew that would be the envy of any soldier, and covering that, a magnificent coat of brown fur, from the base of the shoulder all the way down to the paw. Each pad of the paw was the size of an uncut loaf of bread. Past the soft pink toes was something denser—the scythes of her claws.
The leg was solid enough, but those claws were anything but illusory. In addition to the not warm, yet not cold sensation peculiar to animal claws, Lawrence felt a thrill at the sensation that these were not something that he should be touching.
He swallowed. "Are you really a god...?" he murmured.
"I'm no god. As you can tell from my forepaw, I am merely bigger than my comrades—bigger and cleverer. I am Holo the Wisewolf!"
The girl who so confidently called herself "wise" looked at Lawrence proudly.
She was every bit a mischievous young girl—but the aura that the beast-limb exuded was not something a mere animal could ever manage.
It had nothing to do with the size of the thing.
"So, what think you?"
|
"Heh-heh-heh. I am Holo the Wisewolf! I know well my own limitations. It is true that I live within the wheat. Without it, I cannot live. And it is also true that during this harvest I was within the last wheat to be harvested, and usually I cannot escape from there. Not while any were watching. However, there is an exception."
Lawrence listened to her explanation, impressed with her rapid delivery.
"If there is nearby a larger sheaf of wheat than the last one to be harvested, I can move unseen to that wheat. That's why they say it, you know, the villagers. 'If you cut too greedily, you won't catch the harvest god, and it will escape.'"
Lawrence glanced at his wagon bed with a sudden realization.
There was the sheaf of wheat—the wheat he'd received from the mountain village.
"So that is how it was done. I suppose one could call you my savior. If you hadn't been there, I would never have escaped."
Although Lawrence could not quite bring himself to believe those words, they were lent persuasion when Holo swallowed a few more wheat grains and returned her arm to normal.
However, Holo had said "savior" with a certain distaste, so Lawrence decided to get even with her.
"Perhaps I should take that wheat back to the village, then. They'll be in a bad way without their harvest god. I've been friends with Yarei and others in Pasloe for a long time. I'd hate to see them suffer."
He concocted the pretense on the spot, but the more he thought about it, the truer it seemed. If this Holo was the real Holo, then wouldn't the village begin suffering poor harvests?
After a few moments his ruminations ended.
Holo was looking at him as if stricken.
"You...you're jesting, surely," she said.
Her suddenly frail mien rocked the defenseless merchant.
"Hard to say," Lawrence said vaguely, trying to conceal his internal conflict and buy some time.
Even as his head filled with other concerns, his heart grew only more uneasy.
Lawrence agonized. If Holo was what she claimed to be, the god of the harvest, his best course of action would be to return her to the village. He had long associated with Pasloe. He did not wish them ill.
However, when he looked back at Holo, her earlier bravado was entirely gone—now she looked down, as apprehensive as any princess in an old knight tale.
Lawrence grimaced and put the question to himself: Should I return this girl to the village, even though she clearly does not want to go?
What if she is the real Holo?
He mulled the matter over in a cold sweat, the two questions battling in his mind.
Presently he became aware of someone looking at him. He followed the look to its source and saw Holo gazing at him beseechingly.
"Please, help me...won't you?"
Unable to stand the sight of Holo so meekly bowing her head, Lawrence turned away. All he saw, day in and day out, was the backside of a horse. The life left him completely unable to resist a girl like Holo looking at him with such a face.
Agonizingly, he came to a decision.
He turned slowly back toward Holo and asked her a single question.
"I must ask you one thing."
"...all right."
"If you leave the village, will they still be able to raise wheat?"
He didn't expect Holo to answer in a way that would weaken her own position, but he was a merchant. He had dealt with any number of dishonest negotiators in his time. He had confidence that if Holo attempted to lie, he would know.
Lawrence readied himself to catch the prevarication he was sure would come, but come it didn't.
When he looked at her, she wore an expression completely different from what he had seen so far; she looked angry and near tears as she stared into the corner of the wagon bed.
"Er...what's wrong?" Lawrence had to ask.
"The village's abundant harvests will continue without me," she spat, her voice surprisingly irate.
"Is that so?" asked Lawrence, overwhelmed by the piercing anger that emanated from Holo.
Holo nodded, squaring her shoulders. She gripped the furs tightly, her hands white from the effort.
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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
"Heh-heh-heh. I am Holo the Wisewolf! I know well my own limitations. It is true that I live within the wheat. Without it, I cannot live. And it is also true that during this harvest I was within the last wheat to be harvested, and usually I cannot escape from there. Not while any were watching. However, there is an exception."
Lawrence listened to her explanation, impressed with her rapid delivery.
"If there is nearby a larger sheaf of wheat than the last one to be harvested, I can move unseen to that wheat. That's why they say it, you know, the villagers. 'If you cut too greedily, you won't catch the harvest god, and it will escape.'"
Lawrence glanced at his wagon bed with a sudden realization.
There was the sheaf of wheat—the wheat he'd received from the mountain village.
"So that is how it was done. I suppose one could call you my savior. If you hadn't been there, I would never have escaped."
Although Lawrence could not quite bring himself to believe those words, they were lent persuasion when Holo swallowed a few more wheat grains and returned her arm to normal.
However, Holo had said "savior" with a certain distaste, so Lawrence decided to get even with her.
"Perhaps I should take that wheat back to the village, then. They'll be in a bad way without their harvest god. I've been friends with Yarei and others in Pasloe for a long time. I'd hate to see them suffer."
He concocted the pretense on the spot, but the more he thought about it, the truer it seemed. If this Holo was the real Holo, then wouldn't the village begin suffering poor harvests?
After a few moments his ruminations ended.
Holo was looking at him as if stricken.
"You...you're jesting, surely," she said.
Her suddenly frail mien rocked the defenseless merchant.
"Hard to say," Lawrence said vaguely, trying to conceal his internal conflict and buy some time.
Even as his head filled with other concerns, his heart grew only more uneasy.
Lawrence agonized. If Holo was what she claimed to be, the god of the harvest, his best course of action would be to return her to the village. He had long associated with Pasloe. He did not wish them ill.
However, when he looked back at Holo, her earlier bravado was entirely gone—now she looked down, as apprehensive as any princess in an old knight tale.
Lawrence grimaced and put the question to himself: Should I return this girl to the village, even though she clearly does not want to go?
What if she is the real Holo?
He mulled the matter over in a cold sweat, the two questions battling in his mind.
Presently he became aware of someone looking at him. He followed the look to its source and saw Holo gazing at him beseechingly.
"Please, help me...won't you?"
Unable to stand the sight of Holo so meekly bowing her head, Lawrence turned away. All he saw, day in and day out, was the backside of a horse. The life left him completely unable to resist a girl like Holo looking at him with such a face.
Agonizingly, he came to a decision.
He turned slowly back toward Holo and asked her a single question.
"I must ask you one thing."
"...all right."
"If you leave the village, will they still be able to raise wheat?"
He didn't expect Holo to answer in a way that would weaken her own position, but he was a merchant. He had dealt with any number of dishonest negotiators in his time. He had confidence that if Holo attempted to lie, he would know.
Lawrence readied himself to catch the prevarication he was sure would come, but come it didn't.
When he looked at her, she wore an expression completely different from what he had seen so far; she looked angry and near tears as she stared into the corner of the wagon bed.
"Er...what's wrong?" Lawrence had to ask.
"The village's abundant harvests will continue without me," she spat, her voice surprisingly irate.
"Is that so?" asked Lawrence, overwhelmed by the piercing anger that emanated from Holo.
Holo nodded, squaring her shoulders. She gripped the furs tightly, her hands white from the effort.
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Perhaps because she couldn't stomach it, she did not so much as look at Lawrence as she spoke.
Earlier her wit and words had been quick and easy; now she stumbled uncertainly.
"I...I am the wolf that lives in the wheat. My knowledge of wheat, of things that grow in the ground, is second to none. That is why I made the village's fields so magnificent, as I promised. But to do that, occasionally the harvest must be poor. Forcing the land to produce requires compensation. But whenever the harvest was poor, the villagers attributed it to my caprices, and it has only gotten worse in recent years. I have been wanting to leave. I can stand it no longer. I long ago fulfilled my promise."
Lawrence understood Holo's anger. Some years ago, Pasloe had come under the care of Count Ehrendott, and since then new farming techniques had been imported from the south, increasing yield.
Holo thus felt that her presence was no longer necessary.
Indeed, the rumor was proliferating that not even the god of the Church existed. It was not impossible that a countryside hamlet's harvest god had gotten wrapped up in such talk.
"The village's good harvests will continue. There will be a poor yield every few years, but that will be their own doing. And they'll overcome it on their own. The land doesn't need me, and the people certainly don't need me either."
Getting her words out all in one breath, Holo sighed deeply and fell over on the pile of furs yet again. She curled up, pulling the furs around her and burying her face in them.
He could not see her face to make certain, but it seemed not impossible that she was crying. Lawrence scratched his head, unsure of what to say.
He looked helplessly at her slender shoulders and wolf ears.
Perhaps this was how a real god acted: now full of bluster and bravado, now wielding a sharp wit, now showing a childish temper.
Lawrence was at a loss at how to treat the girl now. Nevertheless, he couldn't very well remain silent, so he took a new approach.
"In any case, setting aside the question of whether or not that's all true..."
"You think me a liar?" snapped Holo at his preamble. He faltered, but Holo seemed to realize that she herself was being too emotional. She stopped, abashed, and muttered a quick "Sorry," before burying her head in the furs again.
"I understand your resentment. But where do you plan to go, having left the village?"
She did not answer immediately, but Lawrence saw her ears prick at his question, so he waited patiently. She had just delivered a significant confession, and Lawrence expected that she simply couldn't face anyone for a moment.
At length, Holo guiltily looked into the corner of the wagon bed, confirming Lawrence's suspicions.
"I wish to return north," she said flatly.
"North?"
Holo nodded, turning her gaze up and off into the distance. Lawrence didn't have to follow it to know where she was looking: true north.
"My birthplace. The forest of Yoitsu. So many years have passed that I can no longer count them....I wish to return home."
The word birthplace left Lawrence momentarily shocked, and he looked at Holo's profile. He himself had not visited his hometown once since embarking on the life of a wandering merchant.
It was a poor and cramped place of which he had few good memories, but after long days in the driver's seat, sometimes lonelineness overcame him and he couldn't help thinking fondly of the place.
If Holo was telling the truth, not only had she left her home hundreds of years ago, but she'd endured neglect and ridicule at the place in which she'd settled....
He could guess at her loneliness.
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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
Perhaps because she couldn't stomach it, she did not so much as look at Lawrence as she spoke.
Earlier her wit and words had been quick and easy; now she stumbled uncertainly.
"I...I am the wolf that lives in the wheat. My knowledge of wheat, of things that grow in the ground, is second to none. That is why I made the village's fields so magnificent, as I promised. But to do that, occasionally the harvest must be poor. Forcing the land to produce requires compensation. But whenever the harvest was poor, the villagers attributed it to my caprices, and it has only gotten worse in recent years. I have been wanting to leave. I can stand it no longer. I long ago fulfilled my promise."
Lawrence understood Holo's anger. Some years ago, Pasloe had come under the care of Count Ehrendott, and since then new farming techniques had been imported from the south, increasing yield.
Holo thus felt that her presence was no longer necessary.
Indeed, the rumor was proliferating that not even the god of the Church existed. It was not impossible that a countryside hamlet's harvest god had gotten wrapped up in such talk.
"The village's good harvests will continue. There will be a poor yield every few years, but that will be their own doing. And they'll overcome it on their own. The land doesn't need me, and the people certainly don't need me either."
Getting her words out all in one breath, Holo sighed deeply and fell over on the pile of furs yet again. She curled up, pulling the furs around her and burying her face in them.
He could not see her face to make certain, but it seemed not impossible that she was crying. Lawrence scratched his head, unsure of what to say.
He looked helplessly at her slender shoulders and wolf ears.
Perhaps this was how a real god acted: now full of bluster and bravado, now wielding a sharp wit, now showing a childish temper.
Lawrence was at a loss at how to treat the girl now. Nevertheless, he couldn't very well remain silent, so he took a new approach.
"In any case, setting aside the question of whether or not that's all true..."
"You think me a liar?" snapped Holo at his preamble. He faltered, but Holo seemed to realize that she herself was being too emotional. She stopped, abashed, and muttered a quick "Sorry," before burying her head in the furs again.
"I understand your resentment. But where do you plan to go, having left the village?"
She did not answer immediately, but Lawrence saw her ears prick at his question, so he waited patiently. She had just delivered a significant confession, and Lawrence expected that she simply couldn't face anyone for a moment.
At length, Holo guiltily looked into the corner of the wagon bed, confirming Lawrence's suspicions.
"I wish to return north," she said flatly.
"North?"
Holo nodded, turning her gaze up and off into the distance. Lawrence didn't have to follow it to know where she was looking: true north.
"My birthplace. The forest of Yoitsu. So many years have passed that I can no longer count them....I wish to return home."
The word birthplace left Lawrence momentarily shocked, and he looked at Holo's profile. He himself had not visited his hometown once since embarking on the life of a wandering merchant.
It was a poor and cramped place of which he had few good memories, but after long days in the driver's seat, sometimes lonelineness overcame him and he couldn't help thinking fondly of the place.
If Holo was telling the truth, not only had she left her home hundreds of years ago, but she'd endured neglect and ridicule at the place in which she'd settled....
He could guess at her loneliness.
|
She regarded Lawrence with a friendly smile that suggested she'd seen right through him and knew he would not betray her. She sounded like an old friend asking a simple favor.
Lawrence had yet to determine whether or not he believed Holo's story, but as far as he could tell, she was not a bad sort. And he'd begun to enjoy conversing with this strange girl.
But he wasn't so won over by her charm as to forget his merchant's instincts. A good merchant had the audacity to face a god and the caution to doubt a close relative.
Lawrence thought it over, then spoke quietly.
"I cannot make this decision quickly."
He expected complaint but had underestimated Holo. She nodded in comprehension. "It is good to be cautious. But I never misread a person. I don't believe you're so cold as to turn someone away."
Holo spoke with a mischievous smile playing across her lips. She then turned and hopped back into the pile of furs, albeit without the sulkiness she'd shown before. It seemed as though she was saying, "Enough talk for today."
As she'd derailed of the conversation yet again, Lawrence could only grin in spite of himself as he watched Holo.
He thought he could see her ears moving, then her head popped out and she looked at him.
"Surely you'll not tell me to sleep outside," she said, obviously aware that he could do no such thing. Lawrence shrugged; Holo giggled and returned to the fur pile.
Seeing her like this, Lawrence wondered if her actions earlier were something of an act, as if she were trying to play the part of the imprisoned princess.
Nevertheless, he doubted that her dissatisfaction with the village or her desire to return home were lies.
And if those weren't lies, then he must believe that she was the real Holo, because a mere demon-possessed girl would not be able to make it all up. Lawrence sighed as he realized that more thought would not yield any new answers; he decided to go to sleep and leave further ruminations for the morrow.
The furs that Holo slept in belonged to Lawrence. It was ludicrous to think that their owner would forgo their comfort and sleep on the wagon's driving bench. Telling her to move over to one side, he, too, snuggled into the fur pile.
From behind him, he heard the quiet sounds of Holo's breathing. Although he'd told her he couldn't make a quick decision, Lawrence had already decided that as long as Holo had not made off with his goods in the morning, he would travel with her.
He doubted that she was that sort of troublemaker—but if she was, he thought, she would surely make off with his entire load.
He looked forward to the next day.
After all, it had been a long time since he'd slept beside another. It was impossible to be unhappy with her slightly sweet scent piercing the strong-smelling furs.
The horse heaved a sigh, as if reading Lawrence's simple thought.
Perhaps horses really could understand humans and simply preferred not to speak.
Lawrence grinned ruefully and closed his eyes.
Lawrence rose early the next morning. He was like most merchants who awoke early in order to extract the most profit from the day. However, when he opened his eyes to the morning mist, Holo was already up, sitting next to him, and rummaging through something. For an instant Lawrence wondered if his estimation of her had been wrong, but if so, she was truly audacious. He raised his head and looked over his shoulder, and it appeared she had gone looking for clothes among his things and was just now tying her shoes.
"Hey, now! Those are mine!"
Even if it wasn't actual theft, even a god shouldn't be rummaging around through other people's things.
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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
She regarded Lawrence with a friendly smile that suggested she'd seen right through him and knew he would not betray her. She sounded like an old friend asking a simple favor.
Lawrence had yet to determine whether or not he believed Holo's story, but as far as he could tell, she was not a bad sort. And he'd begun to enjoy conversing with this strange girl.
But he wasn't so won over by her charm as to forget his merchant's instincts. A good merchant had the audacity to face a god and the caution to doubt a close relative.
Lawrence thought it over, then spoke quietly.
"I cannot make this decision quickly."
He expected complaint but had underestimated Holo. She nodded in comprehension. "It is good to be cautious. But I never misread a person. I don't believe you're so cold as to turn someone away."
Holo spoke with a mischievous smile playing across her lips. She then turned and hopped back into the pile of furs, albeit without the sulkiness she'd shown before. It seemed as though she was saying, "Enough talk for today."
As she'd derailed of the conversation yet again, Lawrence could only grin in spite of himself as he watched Holo.
He thought he could see her ears moving, then her head popped out and she looked at him.
"Surely you'll not tell me to sleep outside," she said, obviously aware that he could do no such thing. Lawrence shrugged; Holo giggled and returned to the fur pile.
Seeing her like this, Lawrence wondered if her actions earlier were something of an act, as if she were trying to play the part of the imprisoned princess.
Nevertheless, he doubted that her dissatisfaction with the village or her desire to return home were lies.
And if those weren't lies, then he must believe that she was the real Holo, because a mere demon-possessed girl would not be able to make it all up. Lawrence sighed as he realized that more thought would not yield any new answers; he decided to go to sleep and leave further ruminations for the morrow.
The furs that Holo slept in belonged to Lawrence. It was ludicrous to think that their owner would forgo their comfort and sleep on the wagon's driving bench. Telling her to move over to one side, he, too, snuggled into the fur pile.
From behind him, he heard the quiet sounds of Holo's breathing. Although he'd told her he couldn't make a quick decision, Lawrence had already decided that as long as Holo had not made off with his goods in the morning, he would travel with her.
He doubted that she was that sort of troublemaker—but if she was, he thought, she would surely make off with his entire load.
He looked forward to the next day.
After all, it had been a long time since he'd slept beside another. It was impossible to be unhappy with her slightly sweet scent piercing the strong-smelling furs.
The horse heaved a sigh, as if reading Lawrence's simple thought.
Perhaps horses really could understand humans and simply preferred not to speak.
Lawrence grinned ruefully and closed his eyes.
Lawrence rose early the next morning. He was like most merchants who awoke early in order to extract the most profit from the day. However, when he opened his eyes to the morning mist, Holo was already up, sitting next to him, and rummaging through something. For an instant Lawrence wondered if his estimation of her had been wrong, but if so, she was truly audacious. He raised his head and looked over his shoulder, and it appeared she had gone looking for clothes among his things and was just now tying her shoes.
"Hey, now! Those are mine!"
Even if it wasn't actual theft, even a god shouldn't be rummaging around through other people's things.
|
Incidentally, the clothes she now wore were Lawrence's best, the one outfit he reserved for negotiations with rich traders and the like. The top was an indigo blue shirt underneath a three-quarters-length vest. The trousers were a rare combination of linen and leather, with a skirt that wrapped fully around her lower body, tied with a fine sheepskin sash. The boots were a rare prize, made of tanned leather and triple-layered, good even in the snowy mountains. Over all this she wore a bearskin greatcoat.
Merchants take pride in their practical, dignified clothing. To buy these Lawrence had saved gradually beginning in his apprenticeship—it had taken him ten years. If he showed up to a negotiation wearing these with a nicely groomed beard, he would have most people at a disadvantage.
And Holo now wore those garments.
He couldn't find it in himself to be angry with her, though.
All the clothes were clearly too big for her, which made it all the more charming.
"The greatcoat is black—my brown hair looks lovely against it, eh? These trousers, though—they get in the way of my tail. Might I put a hole in them?"
The trousers she spoke of so lightly had been made by a master craftsman only after significant effort on Lawrence's part. A hole would likely prove impossible to repair. He shook his head resolutely.
"Hrm. Well, fortunately they're still large. I'll find a way to make them work."
Holo seemed not to harbor the faintest concern that she would be asked to take the clothes off. Lawrence didn't think she was likely to run away while wearing them, but nevertheless he rose and regarded her. If she were to go a city and sell them, they would fetch a tidy amount of gold.
"You're a merchant through and through, that's sure enough. I know just what you anticipate with that expression on your face," said Holo, smiling. She jumped lightly down from the wagon.
Her movement was so unassuming and natural that he had no reaction. If she'd run just then, he would have been unable to pursue.
Or perhaps he didn't react because he didn't believe she would run.
"I'll not run. If that had been my aim, I'd have gone long since."
Lawrence glanced at the wheat sheaf in the wagon bed, then looked back at the smiling Holo. She took the bearskin cloak off and tossed it back in the wagon; evidently the cloak, which had been made for Lawrence's height, was too big for her. She was even smaller than he'd realized yesterday, having seen her only in the dim moonlight. Lawrence was on the tall side, but even so she was fully two heads shorter than him.
Then, as she verified the fit of the rest of the clothes, she spoke offhandedly. "So, I wish to travel with you. May I?"
She smiled but did not seem to flatter. If she'd tried to flatter him, Lawrence felt there might have been reason to refuse her, but she simply smiled happily.
Lawrence sighed.
She didn't seem to be a thief, at least. He couldn't let his guard down, but it wouldn't hurt to let her come along. And sending her away would only make the constant loneliness harder to bear.
"This must be some kind of fate. Very well," Lawrence said.
Holo did not appear especially overjoyed—she merely smiled.
"You'll have to earn your keep, though. The life of a merchant isn't easy. I expect the god of abundant harvests to bring an abundant harvest to my coin purse."
"I'm not so shameless as to thoughtlessly freeload. I'm Holo the Wisewolf, and I have my pride," said Holo sullenly. Lawrence was not so blind as to think she wasn't making a show of childish indignation, though.
Sure enough, Holo chuckled. "Though this proud wolf made a bit of a spectacle of herself yesterday," she said self-deprecatingly, as if her flustered demeanor reflected her true feelings. "In any case, it is good to meet you...er..."
"Lawrence. Kraft Lawrence. When I'm working I go by Lawrence."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
Incidentally, the clothes she now wore were Lawrence's best, the one outfit he reserved for negotiations with rich traders and the like. The top was an indigo blue shirt underneath a three-quarters-length vest. The trousers were a rare combination of linen and leather, with a skirt that wrapped fully around her lower body, tied with a fine sheepskin sash. The boots were a rare prize, made of tanned leather and triple-layered, good even in the snowy mountains. Over all this she wore a bearskin greatcoat.
Merchants take pride in their practical, dignified clothing. To buy these Lawrence had saved gradually beginning in his apprenticeship—it had taken him ten years. If he showed up to a negotiation wearing these with a nicely groomed beard, he would have most people at a disadvantage.
And Holo now wore those garments.
He couldn't find it in himself to be angry with her, though.
All the clothes were clearly too big for her, which made it all the more charming.
"The greatcoat is black—my brown hair looks lovely against it, eh? These trousers, though—they get in the way of my tail. Might I put a hole in them?"
The trousers she spoke of so lightly had been made by a master craftsman only after significant effort on Lawrence's part. A hole would likely prove impossible to repair. He shook his head resolutely.
"Hrm. Well, fortunately they're still large. I'll find a way to make them work."
Holo seemed not to harbor the faintest concern that she would be asked to take the clothes off. Lawrence didn't think she was likely to run away while wearing them, but nevertheless he rose and regarded her. If she were to go a city and sell them, they would fetch a tidy amount of gold.
"You're a merchant through and through, that's sure enough. I know just what you anticipate with that expression on your face," said Holo, smiling. She jumped lightly down from the wagon.
Her movement was so unassuming and natural that he had no reaction. If she'd run just then, he would have been unable to pursue.
Or perhaps he didn't react because he didn't believe she would run.
"I'll not run. If that had been my aim, I'd have gone long since."
Lawrence glanced at the wheat sheaf in the wagon bed, then looked back at the smiling Holo. She took the bearskin cloak off and tossed it back in the wagon; evidently the cloak, which had been made for Lawrence's height, was too big for her. She was even smaller than he'd realized yesterday, having seen her only in the dim moonlight. Lawrence was on the tall side, but even so she was fully two heads shorter than him.
Then, as she verified the fit of the rest of the clothes, she spoke offhandedly. "So, I wish to travel with you. May I?"
She smiled but did not seem to flatter. If she'd tried to flatter him, Lawrence felt there might have been reason to refuse her, but she simply smiled happily.
Lawrence sighed.
She didn't seem to be a thief, at least. He couldn't let his guard down, but it wouldn't hurt to let her come along. And sending her away would only make the constant loneliness harder to bear.
"This must be some kind of fate. Very well," Lawrence said.
Holo did not appear especially overjoyed—she merely smiled.
"You'll have to earn your keep, though. The life of a merchant isn't easy. I expect the god of abundant harvests to bring an abundant harvest to my coin purse."
"I'm not so shameless as to thoughtlessly freeload. I'm Holo the Wisewolf, and I have my pride," said Holo sullenly. Lawrence was not so blind as to think she wasn't making a show of childish indignation, though.
Sure enough, Holo chuckled. "Though this proud wolf made a bit of a spectacle of herself yesterday," she said self-deprecatingly, as if her flustered demeanor reflected her true feelings. "In any case, it is good to meet you...er..."
"Lawrence. Kraft Lawrence. When I'm working I go by Lawrence."
|
Apparently that ever-changing mood was part of her craftiness. Lawrence hastily revised his opinion and offered his hand from the wagon bed. It was the proof that he'd truly acknowledged her presence as a companion.
Holo smiled and took his hand.
Her hand was small and warm.
"At any rate, it will soon rain. We should make haste."
"Wha...? You should have said so sooner!" exclaimed Lawrence—loudly enough to startle the horse. The previous night hadn't brought so much as a hint of rain, but looking up at the sky he could indeed see clouds beginning to gather. Holo chuckled at him as he hurriedly made preparations to depart. She scampered on board the wagon, and it was obvious enough from the ease with which she rearranged the slept-in furs that she would be more handy than some fresh-faced apprentice child.
"The river is in a foul temper. 'Twould be best to cross a short distance from here."
After Lawrence roused the horse, collected the bucket, and took the reins in hand, Holo joined him in the driver's seat.
It was too big for one person, but slightly too small for two.
But to ward off the chill, too small was just right.
With the neigh of a horse, the pair's strange travels had begun.
***
The rain was a true downpour. The threatening storm finally caught up with Lawrence and Holo, but fortunately they caught sight of a church through their rain-blurred vision and hurried into it. Unlike the monastery, the church survived on tithes from travelers and pilgrims who would stay the night and pray for a safe journey, so Lawrence and Holo were greeted warmly, without so much as a single fell glance.
Nonetheless, a girl with wolf ears and a tail would hardly be allowed to walk into a church. Holo thus covered her head and face in a hood, and they spun the lie that she was Lawrence's wife, whose face was badly burned.
He knew Holo was snickering to herself beneath the veil, but she understood her relationship with the Church, so her performance was good enough. That she had suffered many times at the hands of the Church was surely no lie.
Even if she weren't a demon, but an animal incarnation, that was little distinction as far as the Church was concerned. To the Church, all spirits besides the god it worshipped were anathema, tools of evil.
But it was through the gates of that church that the two passed easily and rented a room, and when Lawrence returned to the room after attending to his soaked wagonload, he found Holo, naked to the waist and wringing out her hair. Water fell in great, undignified drops from her beautiful brown locks. The floor was already full of holes, so a little bit of water wouldn't hurt—Lawrence was more concered with the problem of averting his eyes.
"Ha-ha, the cool water soothes my burns, it does," said Holo, indifferent to Lawrence.
Pleased by their lie or otherwise, Holo smiled. Brushing aside the hair that stuck to her face, she swept it up and back in a grand motion.
The boldness of the gesture was undeniably wolflike, and it was not hard to see that the wet hair, disarrayed as it was, resembled the stiff fur of a wolf.
"The furs will be all right, surely. They were good marten skins, and martens live in the mountains, mountains where my kind live as well."
"Will they sell high?"
"I hardly know. I'm no fur merchant, am I?"
Lawrence nodded at the entirely reasonable answer, then began to disrobe and dry his own clothes.
"Oh, that's right," he said, remembering. "What shall we do with that wheat sheaf?"
He finished wringing out his shirt and was about to do the same with his trousers when he remembered Holo's presence; he looked to her and discovered that she was now quite naked and wringing her own clothes free of water. Feeling somehow vexed, he ventured to strip nude and do the same.
"Mm, what do you mean, 'what?'"
"I mean, shall we thresh it, or shall we leave it as it is? Assuming the talk of you residing in the wheat is true, that is."
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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
Apparently that ever-changing mood was part of her craftiness. Lawrence hastily revised his opinion and offered his hand from the wagon bed. It was the proof that he'd truly acknowledged her presence as a companion.
Holo smiled and took his hand.
Her hand was small and warm.
"At any rate, it will soon rain. We should make haste."
"Wha...? You should have said so sooner!" exclaimed Lawrence—loudly enough to startle the horse. The previous night hadn't brought so much as a hint of rain, but looking up at the sky he could indeed see clouds beginning to gather. Holo chuckled at him as he hurriedly made preparations to depart. She scampered on board the wagon, and it was obvious enough from the ease with which she rearranged the slept-in furs that she would be more handy than some fresh-faced apprentice child.
"The river is in a foul temper. 'Twould be best to cross a short distance from here."
After Lawrence roused the horse, collected the bucket, and took the reins in hand, Holo joined him in the driver's seat.
It was too big for one person, but slightly too small for two.
But to ward off the chill, too small was just right.
With the neigh of a horse, the pair's strange travels had begun.
***
The rain was a true downpour. The threatening storm finally caught up with Lawrence and Holo, but fortunately they caught sight of a church through their rain-blurred vision and hurried into it. Unlike the monastery, the church survived on tithes from travelers and pilgrims who would stay the night and pray for a safe journey, so Lawrence and Holo were greeted warmly, without so much as a single fell glance.
Nonetheless, a girl with wolf ears and a tail would hardly be allowed to walk into a church. Holo thus covered her head and face in a hood, and they spun the lie that she was Lawrence's wife, whose face was badly burned.
He knew Holo was snickering to herself beneath the veil, but she understood her relationship with the Church, so her performance was good enough. That she had suffered many times at the hands of the Church was surely no lie.
Even if she weren't a demon, but an animal incarnation, that was little distinction as far as the Church was concerned. To the Church, all spirits besides the god it worshipped were anathema, tools of evil.
But it was through the gates of that church that the two passed easily and rented a room, and when Lawrence returned to the room after attending to his soaked wagonload, he found Holo, naked to the waist and wringing out her hair. Water fell in great, undignified drops from her beautiful brown locks. The floor was already full of holes, so a little bit of water wouldn't hurt—Lawrence was more concered with the problem of averting his eyes.
"Ha-ha, the cool water soothes my burns, it does," said Holo, indifferent to Lawrence.
Pleased by their lie or otherwise, Holo smiled. Brushing aside the hair that stuck to her face, she swept it up and back in a grand motion.
The boldness of the gesture was undeniably wolflike, and it was not hard to see that the wet hair, disarrayed as it was, resembled the stiff fur of a wolf.
"The furs will be all right, surely. They were good marten skins, and martens live in the mountains, mountains where my kind live as well."
"Will they sell high?"
"I hardly know. I'm no fur merchant, am I?"
Lawrence nodded at the entirely reasonable answer, then began to disrobe and dry his own clothes.
"Oh, that's right," he said, remembering. "What shall we do with that wheat sheaf?"
He finished wringing out his shirt and was about to do the same with his trousers when he remembered Holo's presence; he looked to her and discovered that she was now quite naked and wringing her own clothes free of water. Feeling somehow vexed, he ventured to strip nude and do the same.
"Mm, what do you mean, 'what?'"
"I mean, shall we thresh it, or shall we leave it as it is? Assuming the talk of you residing in the wheat is true, that is."
|
"As long as I live, the wheat will neither rot nor wither. But should it be burned, eaten, or ground into the soil, I will likely disappear. If it's in the way, you could thresh it and keep it safe somewhere; that might be better."
"I see. I'll thresh it and put the grains in a pouch, then. You should hold it, right?"
"'Twould be a boon. Still better to hang it 'round my neck," Holo said.
Forgetting himself for a moment, Lawrence glanced at Holo's neckline, but hastily looked away.
"I'd hoped to sell some of it elsewhere, though. Could we set aside a bit for sale?" Lawrence asked after he'd calmed himself.
He heard a rustling, and turned to see that it was Holo's tail waving wildly. The tail's fur was very fine, and shed water readily. Lawrence frowned as his face was dampened by the flying drops, but Holo seemed not the least bit contrite.
"Most of the crops grew well because of the region. They'll soon wither—that's the point. No use taking them elsewhere."
Holo looked thoughtfully at the clothes she'd finished wringing out, but as she had nothing else to change into, she put the wrinkled items back on. Since they weren't cheap like what Lawrence wore, they shed water well. Lawrence thought the situation rather unreasonable but said nothing and changed back into his own damp, wrinkled clothes, then nodded to Holo.
"Let's go dry ourselves in the great room. With this rain, there should be plenty of other people gathering around the furnace."
"Mm, a good idea, that," said Holo, covering her head with the thin cloak. Once covered, she giggled.
"What's so funny?"
"Heh, I would never have thought to cover up my face because of burns."
"Oh? What would you have done?
"The burns would become part of me, just like my ears or tail. Proof of my uniqueness."
Lawrence was somewhat impressed with her statement. Nonetheless he wondered uncharitably if she'd feel the same way if she were actually injured.
Holo interrupted his reverie.
"I know what you are thinking," she said.
Underneath the cloak, she smiled mischievously. The right corner of her mouth curled up in a smirk, showing a sharp fang.
"Want to injure me and see for yourself?"
Lawrence was not entirely disinclined to respond to her provocation, but he decided that if he actually reacted and drew his dagger, things could really get out of hand.
It was possible that she meant it. More likely, though, it was just her mischief-loving nature.
"I'm a man. I could never injure such a beautiful face."
Hearing him say so, Holo smiled as if having received a long-anticipated gift and drew playfully near to him. A sweet scent swirled vaguely around him, rousing Lawrence's body. Completely indifferent to his reaction, she sniffed him, then drew slightly back.
"You may have been caught in the rain, but you still smell foul. A wolf can tell these things."
"Why, you—"
Lawrence threw a half-serious punch, but Holo moved adroitly aside and he hit only hair. She laughed, cocking her head and continuing.
"Even a wolf knows to keep its coat clean. You're a good man, aye, but you need to keep neat."
He didn't know whether she was joking or not, but hearing it from a girl like Holo made it impossible to deny. For as long as he could remember, Lawrence maintained his appearance only insofar as it would help his professional negotiation, with no thought given to whether it would appeal to a woman.
Had his negotiation partner been a woman, he might have taken the trouble, but unfortunately, he had not once met a female merchant.
He didn't know how to answer, so he simply turned around and fell silent.
"The beard, though, is quite nice."
The medium-length beard that grew from Lawrence's chin had always been well-received. Lawrence accepted the compliment gracefully, turning back to face her, somewhat proudly.
"I daresay I'd prefer it a big longer, though."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
"As long as I live, the wheat will neither rot nor wither. But should it be burned, eaten, or ground into the soil, I will likely disappear. If it's in the way, you could thresh it and keep it safe somewhere; that might be better."
"I see. I'll thresh it and put the grains in a pouch, then. You should hold it, right?"
"'Twould be a boon. Still better to hang it 'round my neck," Holo said.
Forgetting himself for a moment, Lawrence glanced at Holo's neckline, but hastily looked away.
"I'd hoped to sell some of it elsewhere, though. Could we set aside a bit for sale?" Lawrence asked after he'd calmed himself.
He heard a rustling, and turned to see that it was Holo's tail waving wildly. The tail's fur was very fine, and shed water readily. Lawrence frowned as his face was dampened by the flying drops, but Holo seemed not the least bit contrite.
"Most of the crops grew well because of the region. They'll soon wither—that's the point. No use taking them elsewhere."
Holo looked thoughtfully at the clothes she'd finished wringing out, but as she had nothing else to change into, she put the wrinkled items back on. Since they weren't cheap like what Lawrence wore, they shed water well. Lawrence thought the situation rather unreasonable but said nothing and changed back into his own damp, wrinkled clothes, then nodded to Holo.
"Let's go dry ourselves in the great room. With this rain, there should be plenty of other people gathering around the furnace."
"Mm, a good idea, that," said Holo, covering her head with the thin cloak. Once covered, she giggled.
"What's so funny?"
"Heh, I would never have thought to cover up my face because of burns."
"Oh? What would you have done?
"The burns would become part of me, just like my ears or tail. Proof of my uniqueness."
Lawrence was somewhat impressed with her statement. Nonetheless he wondered uncharitably if she'd feel the same way if she were actually injured.
Holo interrupted his reverie.
"I know what you are thinking," she said.
Underneath the cloak, she smiled mischievously. The right corner of her mouth curled up in a smirk, showing a sharp fang.
"Want to injure me and see for yourself?"
Lawrence was not entirely disinclined to respond to her provocation, but he decided that if he actually reacted and drew his dagger, things could really get out of hand.
It was possible that she meant it. More likely, though, it was just her mischief-loving nature.
"I'm a man. I could never injure such a beautiful face."
Hearing him say so, Holo smiled as if having received a long-anticipated gift and drew playfully near to him. A sweet scent swirled vaguely around him, rousing Lawrence's body. Completely indifferent to his reaction, she sniffed him, then drew slightly back.
"You may have been caught in the rain, but you still smell foul. A wolf can tell these things."
"Why, you—"
Lawrence threw a half-serious punch, but Holo moved adroitly aside and he hit only hair. She laughed, cocking her head and continuing.
"Even a wolf knows to keep its coat clean. You're a good man, aye, but you need to keep neat."
He didn't know whether she was joking or not, but hearing it from a girl like Holo made it impossible to deny. For as long as he could remember, Lawrence maintained his appearance only insofar as it would help his professional negotiation, with no thought given to whether it would appeal to a woman.
Had his negotiation partner been a woman, he might have taken the trouble, but unfortunately, he had not once met a female merchant.
He didn't know how to answer, so he simply turned around and fell silent.
"The beard, though, is quite nice."
The medium-length beard that grew from Lawrence's chin had always been well-received. Lawrence accepted the compliment gracefully, turning back to face her, somewhat proudly.
"I daresay I'd prefer it a big longer, though."
|
"...Like so, like a wolf."
Lawrence was now finally aware that he had been made sport of. He ignored her and walked toward the room's door, even as he felt childish for doing so. Holo giggled and followed. Truthfully, he was not actually angry with her.
"There will be many people around the furnace. Best not to let anything slip."
"I am Holo the Wisewolf! Long ago I traveled clear to Pasloe in human form. Worry not!"
The churches and inns far from the cities were important sources of information to a merchant. Churches in particular attracted all kinds of people. An inn might house poor travelers and grizzled merchants, but churches were different. One might find anyone from master brewers to wealthy nobles in a church.
The church Lawrence and Holo had stopped in housed twelve guests. A few looked to be merchants; the others were of various professions.
"Aha, so you're here from Yorenz, then?"
"Yes. I delivered salt from there to my customer and got marten furs in trade."
Most of the guests sat on the floor in the main hall, taking their meals or picking fleas from their clothing. One couple monopolized the bench in front of the furnace. Despite being a "great hall," it was not particularly spacious, so no matter where one was in the crowded room, the generously stoked fireplace would dry one's clothes. The couple's clothes did not appear wet, so Lawrence imagined they were probably wealthy, and having made generous donations to the church could be here as they pleased.
Lawrence was not wrong; he pricked up his ears to listen for a point in the couple's conversation where he could enter and waited for his chance.
The wife had gone silent, possibly because of the exhausting journey, and her middle-aged husband welcomed conversation.
"Still, going all the way back to Yorenz, isn't that rather arduous?"
"That depends on how canny the merchant."
"Oh ho, interesting!"
"When I bought the salt in Yorenz, I paid no money. Rather, I'd already sold a measure of wheat to a different branch of the same company in another city—but when I sold the wheat, I took no payment; neither did I pay for the salt. So I completed two separate deals with no money exchanged."
This system of barter had been invented by a mercantile nation in the south about a century earlier. When Lawrence's master had explained it to him, he'd agonized over the concept for two weeks before finally understanding. The man in front of him had apparently never heard of it himself and appeared similarly unable to grasp it, hearing the explanation but once.
"I see...what a strange contrivance," he said, nodding. "I live in the city of Perenzzo, and my vineyard has never employed such a method when selling our grapes. Will we be all right?"
"This barter system was invented by merchants who needed a convenient way to deal with people from many different lands. As the owner of a vineyard, you'd need to be careful not to let vintners claim your grapes to be poor and buy them cheaply."
"Yes. We have such arguments every year," said the man with a smile—but to the accountants he employed, the red-faced arguments they had with sly vintners were no laughing matter. Most vineyard owners were noble, but almost none of them took a personal hand in the farming or sale of their product. Count Ehrendott, who managed the region surrounding Pasloe, was highly eccentric in this regard.
"Lawrence, was it? Next time you're in Perenzzo, do come by for a visit."
"I shall, thank you."
As was common among the nobility, the man did not give his own name, assuming his name would already be known. It was seen as plebeian to give one's own name.
Undoubtedly if Lawrence were to visit Perenzzo and ask after the master of the vineyard, it would be this man. Had this been Perenzzo, though, a man of Lawrence's stature would find it practically impossible to simply arrange an audience with him. Churches were therefore the best place to establish such connections.
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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
"...Like so, like a wolf."
Lawrence was now finally aware that he had been made sport of. He ignored her and walked toward the room's door, even as he felt childish for doing so. Holo giggled and followed. Truthfully, he was not actually angry with her.
"There will be many people around the furnace. Best not to let anything slip."
"I am Holo the Wisewolf! Long ago I traveled clear to Pasloe in human form. Worry not!"
The churches and inns far from the cities were important sources of information to a merchant. Churches in particular attracted all kinds of people. An inn might house poor travelers and grizzled merchants, but churches were different. One might find anyone from master brewers to wealthy nobles in a church.
The church Lawrence and Holo had stopped in housed twelve guests. A few looked to be merchants; the others were of various professions.
"Aha, so you're here from Yorenz, then?"
"Yes. I delivered salt from there to my customer and got marten furs in trade."
Most of the guests sat on the floor in the main hall, taking their meals or picking fleas from their clothing. One couple monopolized the bench in front of the furnace. Despite being a "great hall," it was not particularly spacious, so no matter where one was in the crowded room, the generously stoked fireplace would dry one's clothes. The couple's clothes did not appear wet, so Lawrence imagined they were probably wealthy, and having made generous donations to the church could be here as they pleased.
Lawrence was not wrong; he pricked up his ears to listen for a point in the couple's conversation where he could enter and waited for his chance.
The wife had gone silent, possibly because of the exhausting journey, and her middle-aged husband welcomed conversation.
"Still, going all the way back to Yorenz, isn't that rather arduous?"
"That depends on how canny the merchant."
"Oh ho, interesting!"
"When I bought the salt in Yorenz, I paid no money. Rather, I'd already sold a measure of wheat to a different branch of the same company in another city—but when I sold the wheat, I took no payment; neither did I pay for the salt. So I completed two separate deals with no money exchanged."
This system of barter had been invented by a mercantile nation in the south about a century earlier. When Lawrence's master had explained it to him, he'd agonized over the concept for two weeks before finally understanding. The man in front of him had apparently never heard of it himself and appeared similarly unable to grasp it, hearing the explanation but once.
"I see...what a strange contrivance," he said, nodding. "I live in the city of Perenzzo, and my vineyard has never employed such a method when selling our grapes. Will we be all right?"
"This barter system was invented by merchants who needed a convenient way to deal with people from many different lands. As the owner of a vineyard, you'd need to be careful not to let vintners claim your grapes to be poor and buy them cheaply."
"Yes. We have such arguments every year," said the man with a smile—but to the accountants he employed, the red-faced arguments they had with sly vintners were no laughing matter. Most vineyard owners were noble, but almost none of them took a personal hand in the farming or sale of their product. Count Ehrendott, who managed the region surrounding Pasloe, was highly eccentric in this regard.
"Lawrence, was it? Next time you're in Perenzzo, do come by for a visit."
"I shall, thank you."
As was common among the nobility, the man did not give his own name, assuming his name would already be known. It was seen as plebeian to give one's own name.
Undoubtedly if Lawrence were to visit Perenzzo and ask after the master of the vineyard, it would be this man. Had this been Perenzzo, though, a man of Lawrence's stature would find it practically impossible to simply arrange an audience with him. Churches were therefore the best place to establish such connections.
|
"May God allow us to meet again," said Lawrence.
It was a standard phrase within the Church. The man rose from his chair and, along with his wife, gave a polite nod before leaving the hall. Lawrence, too, vacated the chair the man had requested that he bring over from the corner of the room. He then returned the chairs the couple had occupied to the corner.
The only people who sat on chairs in the great hall were nobility, knights, and the wealthy. Most people disliked all three.
"Heh-heh, you're not a man to be trifled with, master!"
Once Lawrence had cleared the chairs and returned to Holo's side in the middle of the hall, a man approached them. Given his dress and affect, he, too, was a merchant. His bearded face looked young. He had probably not been working on his own very long.
"I'm merely a traveling merchant like any other," said Lawrence shortly. Beside him, Holo straightened. The hood over her head shifted slightly; only Lawrence would know that it was her ears pricking.
"Far from it, master. I'd been wanting to speak with him for some time but couldn't find the opportunity. Yet you slipped right in. Thinking that it's traders like you that I'll be going up against in the future, why, it's hard not to despair."
The man grinned as he spoke, revealing a smile that lacked one front tooth, giving it a certain charm. Perhaps he'd pulled the tooth on purpose to lend his foolish smile persuasion. As a merchant, he'd know how to use his appearance to best effect.
Lawrence realized he'd better not be careless.
Nonetheless, he himself had struck up conversations just like this one when he was starting out, so he held a spark of empathy for the man.
"That's nothing—when I was starting out, all the established merchants seemed like monsters to me. Half of them still do. But I'm still eating. You just have to keep at it."
"Heh-heh, it's a relief to hear you say so, sir. Oh, by the way, I'm Zheren—and you've probably figured it out, but I'm just starting out as a merchant. Begging your indulgence, sir!"
"I'm Lawrence."
Lawrence remembered that when he himself had just started out, he'd also tried to strike up conversations like this one and gotten frustrated by the cold responses. Now on the receiving end of a solicitous young merchant's conversation, he understood those cold responses.
A young merchant just starting out had nothing to share and could only receive.
"So, then...is this your companion?"
It was unclear whether Zheren broached the subject because he truly had nothing to share or if he'd committed the common beginner's mistake of trying to gain without offering anything in return. If this had been a conversation between veterans, they would already have traded information on two or three locations by this point.
"My wife, Holo." For a moment Lawrence hesitated, wondering if he should use a false name, but ultimately decided there was no need.
Holo bowed slightly in greeting as her name was mentioned.
"My, a wife and a merchant both?"
"She is an eccentric and prefers the wagon to the village home."
"Still, covering your wife in a cloak this way, she must be very precious to you."
Lawrence had some grudging respect for the man's charisma; perhaps he'd been the town rogue. For his part, Lawrence had been taught by his relatives that it was best not to say such things.
"Heh-heh, but it is a man's instinct to want to see hidden things. God has led us together here. Surely you can let me have a look at her."
What shamelessness! thought Lawrence in spite of the knowledge that Holo was not actually his wife.
But before Lawrence could take the man to task, Holo spoke.
"The traveler is happiest before the journey; the dog's bark fiercer than the dog itself, and a woman most beautiful from behind. To show my face in public would dash many dreams, and thus 'tis something I cannot do," she said, smiling softly underneath the veil.
Zheren could only grin, chastened. Even Lawrence was impressed with her lilting eloquence.
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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
"May God allow us to meet again," said Lawrence.
It was a standard phrase within the Church. The man rose from his chair and, along with his wife, gave a polite nod before leaving the hall. Lawrence, too, vacated the chair the man had requested that he bring over from the corner of the room. He then returned the chairs the couple had occupied to the corner.
The only people who sat on chairs in the great hall were nobility, knights, and the wealthy. Most people disliked all three.
"Heh-heh, you're not a man to be trifled with, master!"
Once Lawrence had cleared the chairs and returned to Holo's side in the middle of the hall, a man approached them. Given his dress and affect, he, too, was a merchant. His bearded face looked young. He had probably not been working on his own very long.
"I'm merely a traveling merchant like any other," said Lawrence shortly. Beside him, Holo straightened. The hood over her head shifted slightly; only Lawrence would know that it was her ears pricking.
"Far from it, master. I'd been wanting to speak with him for some time but couldn't find the opportunity. Yet you slipped right in. Thinking that it's traders like you that I'll be going up against in the future, why, it's hard not to despair."
The man grinned as he spoke, revealing a smile that lacked one front tooth, giving it a certain charm. Perhaps he'd pulled the tooth on purpose to lend his foolish smile persuasion. As a merchant, he'd know how to use his appearance to best effect.
Lawrence realized he'd better not be careless.
Nonetheless, he himself had struck up conversations just like this one when he was starting out, so he held a spark of empathy for the man.
"That's nothing—when I was starting out, all the established merchants seemed like monsters to me. Half of them still do. But I'm still eating. You just have to keep at it."
"Heh-heh, it's a relief to hear you say so, sir. Oh, by the way, I'm Zheren—and you've probably figured it out, but I'm just starting out as a merchant. Begging your indulgence, sir!"
"I'm Lawrence."
Lawrence remembered that when he himself had just started out, he'd also tried to strike up conversations like this one and gotten frustrated by the cold responses. Now on the receiving end of a solicitous young merchant's conversation, he understood those cold responses.
A young merchant just starting out had nothing to share and could only receive.
"So, then...is this your companion?"
It was unclear whether Zheren broached the subject because he truly had nothing to share or if he'd committed the common beginner's mistake of trying to gain without offering anything in return. If this had been a conversation between veterans, they would already have traded information on two or three locations by this point.
"My wife, Holo." For a moment Lawrence hesitated, wondering if he should use a false name, but ultimately decided there was no need.
Holo bowed slightly in greeting as her name was mentioned.
"My, a wife and a merchant both?"
"She is an eccentric and prefers the wagon to the village home."
"Still, covering your wife in a cloak this way, she must be very precious to you."
Lawrence had some grudging respect for the man's charisma; perhaps he'd been the town rogue. For his part, Lawrence had been taught by his relatives that it was best not to say such things.
"Heh-heh, but it is a man's instinct to want to see hidden things. God has led us together here. Surely you can let me have a look at her."
What shamelessness! thought Lawrence in spite of the knowledge that Holo was not actually his wife.
But before Lawrence could take the man to task, Holo spoke.
"The traveler is happiest before the journey; the dog's bark fiercer than the dog itself, and a woman most beautiful from behind. To show my face in public would dash many dreams, and thus 'tis something I cannot do," she said, smiling softly underneath the veil.
Zheren could only grin, chastened. Even Lawrence was impressed with her lilting eloquence.
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"It's all I can do to avoid being quite henpecked."
Lawrence was more than half-serious.
"Yes, well...it's certainly providential that I've met the both of you. Can you spare a moment to hear my tale?" said Zheren. Silence descended as he flashed his grin that was one tooth short and moved closer to the pair.
Unlike typical inns, churches only provided lodging—not food. However, the hearth could be used for cooking, provided one gave the proper donation. Lawrence did so and placed five potatoes into a pot to boil. Naturally the firewood for cooking had to be purchased as well.
It would take time for the water to boil, so Lawrence threshed the wheat that housed Holo and found an unused leather pouch to keep it in. Remembering that she'd said she wanted to keep it around her neck, Lawrence took a leather strap and attended to the hearth. Altogether the potatoes, firewood, pouch, and strap came to a significant cost, so he mused over how much to charge her as he brought the potatoes back to the room.
Because his hands were full, Lawrence couldn't knock on the door—but Holo's sensitive wolf ears could identify his footfalls. When he entered the room, however, her back was turned to him as she sat on the bed, combing her tail fur.
"Hm? Something smells good," she said, raising her head. Evidently her nose was as sensitive as her ears.
The potatoes were topped with goat cheese. Lawrence would never have indulged in such luxury had be been alone, but now that he was in a party of two, he decided to be generous. Holo's happy reaction made it entirely worthwhile.
Lawrence set the potatoes on the table beside the bed, and Holo immediately reached out to help herself. Just before she could grab a potato, Lawrence tossed the pouch full of wheat to her.
"Wha...oh. The wheat."
"And here's a strap, so you can work out a way to hang it around your neck."
"Mm. My thanks. But this takes precedence," she said, tossing the wheat aside with surprising nonchalance, then licking her lips and reaching for a potato. Apparently eating was a priority for Holo.
Once she had a potato in hand, she immediately broke it in half. Her face fairly glowed with delight at the steam that rose from the food. With her tail wagging back and forth she looked undeniably canine, but Lawrence was sure that if he pointed it out she'd be irritated, so he said nothing.
"So wolves find potatoes delicious, do they?"
"Aye. It is not as though we wolves eat meat year-round. We eat tender buds from trees. We eat fish. And the crops that humans raise are better still than tree buds. Also, I rather like the human habit of putting meat and vegetables to a fire."
It is said that a cat's tongue cannot stand hot food, but wolves did not appear to have this problem. Holo held half of the potato in her hand and popped the entire piece into her mouth at once after blowing on it two or three times. Lawrence felt that she'd bitten off more than she could chew, and indeed she soon appeared to choke. Lawrence tossed her a water-skin, and with it Holo managed to get the potato down.
"Whew. Rather surprising, that. Human throats are so narrow. It's rather inconvenient."
"Wolves swallow things whole, right?"
"Mm. Well, we lack this, so we cannot chew at our leisure."
Holo pulled at the edge of her lips; presumably she was talking about her cheeks.
"But I've choked on potatoes in the past, it's true."
"Oh ho."
"I suppose potatoes and I are ill-fated."
Lawrence resisted telling her that it was her gluttony that boded ill, not potatoes.
"Earlier," he began instead, "you said something about being able to tell when someone is lying?"
Upon hearing the question, Holo turned to face him mid-bite, but suddenly looked aside and moved her hand.
Before Lawrence could ask what was wrong, her hand stopped, frozen in midair as if she'd grabbed something.
"There are still fleas."
"It's that nice fur of yours. I bet it's a lovely bed for them."
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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
"It's all I can do to avoid being quite henpecked."
Lawrence was more than half-serious.
"Yes, well...it's certainly providential that I've met the both of you. Can you spare a moment to hear my tale?" said Zheren. Silence descended as he flashed his grin that was one tooth short and moved closer to the pair.
Unlike typical inns, churches only provided lodging—not food. However, the hearth could be used for cooking, provided one gave the proper donation. Lawrence did so and placed five potatoes into a pot to boil. Naturally the firewood for cooking had to be purchased as well.
It would take time for the water to boil, so Lawrence threshed the wheat that housed Holo and found an unused leather pouch to keep it in. Remembering that she'd said she wanted to keep it around her neck, Lawrence took a leather strap and attended to the hearth. Altogether the potatoes, firewood, pouch, and strap came to a significant cost, so he mused over how much to charge her as he brought the potatoes back to the room.
Because his hands were full, Lawrence couldn't knock on the door—but Holo's sensitive wolf ears could identify his footfalls. When he entered the room, however, her back was turned to him as she sat on the bed, combing her tail fur.
"Hm? Something smells good," she said, raising her head. Evidently her nose was as sensitive as her ears.
The potatoes were topped with goat cheese. Lawrence would never have indulged in such luxury had be been alone, but now that he was in a party of two, he decided to be generous. Holo's happy reaction made it entirely worthwhile.
Lawrence set the potatoes on the table beside the bed, and Holo immediately reached out to help herself. Just before she could grab a potato, Lawrence tossed the pouch full of wheat to her.
"Wha...oh. The wheat."
"And here's a strap, so you can work out a way to hang it around your neck."
"Mm. My thanks. But this takes precedence," she said, tossing the wheat aside with surprising nonchalance, then licking her lips and reaching for a potato. Apparently eating was a priority for Holo.
Once she had a potato in hand, she immediately broke it in half. Her face fairly glowed with delight at the steam that rose from the food. With her tail wagging back and forth she looked undeniably canine, but Lawrence was sure that if he pointed it out she'd be irritated, so he said nothing.
"So wolves find potatoes delicious, do they?"
"Aye. It is not as though we wolves eat meat year-round. We eat tender buds from trees. We eat fish. And the crops that humans raise are better still than tree buds. Also, I rather like the human habit of putting meat and vegetables to a fire."
It is said that a cat's tongue cannot stand hot food, but wolves did not appear to have this problem. Holo held half of the potato in her hand and popped the entire piece into her mouth at once after blowing on it two or three times. Lawrence felt that she'd bitten off more than she could chew, and indeed she soon appeared to choke. Lawrence tossed her a water-skin, and with it Holo managed to get the potato down.
"Whew. Rather surprising, that. Human throats are so narrow. It's rather inconvenient."
"Wolves swallow things whole, right?"
"Mm. Well, we lack this, so we cannot chew at our leisure."
Holo pulled at the edge of her lips; presumably she was talking about her cheeks.
"But I've choked on potatoes in the past, it's true."
"Oh ho."
"I suppose potatoes and I are ill-fated."
Lawrence resisted telling her that it was her gluttony that boded ill, not potatoes.
"Earlier," he began instead, "you said something about being able to tell when someone is lying?"
Upon hearing the question, Holo turned to face him mid-bite, but suddenly looked aside and moved her hand.
Before Lawrence could ask what was wrong, her hand stopped, frozen in midair as if she'd grabbed something.
"There are still fleas."
"It's that nice fur of yours. I bet it's a lovely bed for them."
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"Well, it's a credit to your eye for quality that you can tell as much, then!" she said haughtily. Lawrence decided to keep his thoughts to himself.
"So is it true that you can tell truth from lies?"
"Hm? Oh, more or less." Wiping off the hand that had grabbed the flea, Holo turned her attention back to the potato.
"So, how good at it are you?"
"Well, I know that what you said about my tail just now was not meant as praise."
Lawrence, stunned, said nothing. Holo giggled happily.
"It's not perfect, though. You may believe me or not...as you wish," said Holo impishly, licking cheese from her fingers.
She'd gotten the better of him again, but if he were to react, that would only give her another opportunity. Lawrence composed himself and tried again.
"So let me ask you this—was the lad's story true?"
"The lad?"
"The one who spoke to us by the furnace."
"Oh. Heh, 'lad,' you say."
"Is something funny?"
"From where I stand you're both but lads."
If he tried a comeback she'd only toy with him more, so Lawrence stifled the reply that rose within him.
"Heh. I daresay you're a bit more grown than he, though. As for your lad, it seems to me he is lying."
Lawrence calmed himself; this confirmed his suspicions.
During their conversation in the hall, the young merchant Zheren had spoken to Lawrence about an opportunity for profit.
There was a certain silver coin in circulation that was due to be replaced by a coin with a higher concentration of silver. If the story was true, the old silver coins were of poorer quality than their replacements, but their face value would be the same. However, when being exchanged for other currencies, the new silver coins would be worth more than the old. If one knew in advance which coin was due to be replaced, one could buy them up in bulk, then exchange them for the new coins, thus realizing what amounted to pure profit. Zheren claimed that he knew which coin among all those circulating in the world would be replaced, and would share the information in exchange for a piece of the profit. Since Zheren would certainly have made the same offer to other merchants, Lawrence could not simply swallow the story whole.
Holo stared into space as if thinking back on the conversation, then popped the piece of potato into her mouth and swallowed it.
"I don't know which part is a lie, though, nor do I understand the finer points of the conversation."
Lawrence nodded and considered. He had not actually expected that much from Holo.
Assuming that the transaction itself wasn't a lie, Zheren must be lying about the coins, somehow.
"Well, currency speculation isn't rare in and of itself. Still..."
"You don't understand why he's lying...no?"
Holo plucked a bud from the surface of her potato and ate the rest. Lawrence sighed.
He had to admit that she'd long since gotten control of him.
"When someone's lying, what's important is not the content of the lie, but the reasoning behind it," she said.
"How many years do you think it took me to understand that?"
"Oh? You may have called that Zheren person a lad, but you're both the same to me," said Holo proudly.
In times like these, Lawrence wished Holo did not look so frustratingly human. To think that the youthful Holo had long understood the principles that he had suffered so much to grasp was too much for him to take.
"If I were not here, what would you do?" asked Holo.
"First I'd work out whether it was true or not, then I'd pretend to believe his story."
"And why is that?"
"If it's true, I can turn a profit just by going along with it. If it's a lie, then someone somewhere is up to something—but I can still come out ahead if I keep my eyes and ears open."
"Mm. And given that I am here, and I've told you he's lying, then..."
"Hm?"
Lawrence finally realized what had been eluding him. "Ah."
"Heh. See, there was nothing over which to agonize so. Either way you'll be pretending to accept his proposal," said Holo, grinning. Lawrence had no retort.
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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
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"Well, it's a credit to your eye for quality that you can tell as much, then!" she said haughtily. Lawrence decided to keep his thoughts to himself.
"So is it true that you can tell truth from lies?"
"Hm? Oh, more or less." Wiping off the hand that had grabbed the flea, Holo turned her attention back to the potato.
"So, how good at it are you?"
"Well, I know that what you said about my tail just now was not meant as praise."
Lawrence, stunned, said nothing. Holo giggled happily.
"It's not perfect, though. You may believe me or not...as you wish," said Holo impishly, licking cheese from her fingers.
She'd gotten the better of him again, but if he were to react, that would only give her another opportunity. Lawrence composed himself and tried again.
"So let me ask you this—was the lad's story true?"
"The lad?"
"The one who spoke to us by the furnace."
"Oh. Heh, 'lad,' you say."
"Is something funny?"
"From where I stand you're both but lads."
If he tried a comeback she'd only toy with him more, so Lawrence stifled the reply that rose within him.
"Heh. I daresay you're a bit more grown than he, though. As for your lad, it seems to me he is lying."
Lawrence calmed himself; this confirmed his suspicions.
During their conversation in the hall, the young merchant Zheren had spoken to Lawrence about an opportunity for profit.
There was a certain silver coin in circulation that was due to be replaced by a coin with a higher concentration of silver. If the story was true, the old silver coins were of poorer quality than their replacements, but their face value would be the same. However, when being exchanged for other currencies, the new silver coins would be worth more than the old. If one knew in advance which coin was due to be replaced, one could buy them up in bulk, then exchange them for the new coins, thus realizing what amounted to pure profit. Zheren claimed that he knew which coin among all those circulating in the world would be replaced, and would share the information in exchange for a piece of the profit. Since Zheren would certainly have made the same offer to other merchants, Lawrence could not simply swallow the story whole.
Holo stared into space as if thinking back on the conversation, then popped the piece of potato into her mouth and swallowed it.
"I don't know which part is a lie, though, nor do I understand the finer points of the conversation."
Lawrence nodded and considered. He had not actually expected that much from Holo.
Assuming that the transaction itself wasn't a lie, Zheren must be lying about the coins, somehow.
"Well, currency speculation isn't rare in and of itself. Still..."
"You don't understand why he's lying...no?"
Holo plucked a bud from the surface of her potato and ate the rest. Lawrence sighed.
He had to admit that she'd long since gotten control of him.
"When someone's lying, what's important is not the content of the lie, but the reasoning behind it," she said.
"How many years do you think it took me to understand that?"
"Oh? You may have called that Zheren person a lad, but you're both the same to me," said Holo proudly.
In times like these, Lawrence wished Holo did not look so frustratingly human. To think that the youthful Holo had long understood the principles that he had suffered so much to grasp was too much for him to take.
"If I were not here, what would you do?" asked Holo.
"First I'd work out whether it was true or not, then I'd pretend to believe his story."
"And why is that?"
"If it's true, I can turn a profit just by going along with it. If it's a lie, then someone somewhere is up to something—but I can still come out ahead if I keep my eyes and ears open."
"Mm. And given that I am here, and I've told you he's lying, then..."
"Hm?"
Lawrence finally realized what had been eluding him. "Ah."
"Heh. See, there was nothing over which to agonize so. Either way you'll be pretending to accept his proposal," said Holo, grinning. Lawrence had no retort.
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For his part, Lawrence was too abashed to even split the potato he held in his hand.
"I am Holo the Wisewolf! How many times longer do you think I have lived than you?"
Lawrence's mood only worsened with her concern for his feelings. He took a vindictive bite out of his potato.
He felt like an apprentice traveling with his teacher all over again.
The next day was beautiful with clear autumn skies. The church awoke still earlier than the merchants, so by the time Lawrence rose, the morning routine was already finished. Lawrence anticipated this and was unsurprised, but when he went out to the well to wash his face, he was shocked to see Holo walking out of the worship hall with the members of the Church. She had her head bowed and was wearing her cloak, but even so she stopped frequently to chat pleasantly with the churchgoers.
The sight of the devout chatting with the god of the harvest whose existence they refused to acknowledge was amusing, though Lawrence lacked the nerve to find it so.
Holo took her leave from the congregation and quietly approached a dumbfounded Lawrence. She clasped her small hands together in front of her chest and spoke.
"Lord, grant my husband courage."
The well water was chilly due to the approaching winter; Lawrence poured it over his head anyway and pretended not to hear Holo's laughter.
"It's gotten a bit more important, the Church has," said Holo.
Lawrence shook his head to clear it of water, just as Holo had done with her tail the previous day. "The Church has always been important."
"Hardly. It was not so when I came through here from the north. They'd always be going on about how the one god and his twelve angels created the world and how humanity was but borrowing it. Nature is not something created, though. Even then, I thought to myself, 'When did these people learn to tell such jokes?'"
This centuries-old harvest god was talking like a natural philosopher criticizing the Church, which made it all the more amusing. Lawrence dried off and dressed. He wouldn't forget to leave a coin in the tithe-box that was prepared there. One was expected to leave money in the box if one used the well, and the people of the church would be checking. Anyone who failed to leave a donation would have unlucky things said about him. The constantly traveling Lawrence needed all the luck he could get.
Nonetheless, what he tossed in the box was a worn, blackened copper coin that could barely be counted as money.
"I suppose this is a sign of the times, then...much has changed."
Presumably she referred to her homeland, given the desolate expression on her face.
"Have you yourself changed?" asked Lawrence.
"..." Holo shook her head wordlessly. It was somehow a very childish gesture.
"Then I'm sure your homeland hasn't changed, either."
Despite his youth, Lawrence had endured much. He'd been to many nations, met many people, and gained a wide variety of experiences, so he felt qualified to say as much.
All traveling merchants—even those who had run away from their homes—couldn't help holding their homeland dear, since when in a foreign land, one could only trust one's countrymen.
Holo nodded, her face emerging slightly from underneath the cloak.
"'Twould be a disgrace to the name Wisewolf to be comforted by you, though," she said with a smile, turning and heading back toward their room. She gave him a sidelong glance that could've been interpreted as gratitude.
As long as her attitude was that of a very sly, very old person, Lawrence could cope.
It was her childish side that he found difficult.
Lawrence was twenty-five. If he lived in a town he'd be married and taking his wife and children to church. His life was half over, and Holo's childish demeanor penetrated his lonely heart.
"Hey, what keeps you? Hurry!" shouted Holo, looking over her shoulder at him.
It had been a mere two days since Lawrence met Holo, but it felt like much longer.
Lawrence decided to accept Zheren's offer.
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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
For his part, Lawrence was too abashed to even split the potato he held in his hand.
"I am Holo the Wisewolf! How many times longer do you think I have lived than you?"
Lawrence's mood only worsened with her concern for his feelings. He took a vindictive bite out of his potato.
He felt like an apprentice traveling with his teacher all over again.
The next day was beautiful with clear autumn skies. The church awoke still earlier than the merchants, so by the time Lawrence rose, the morning routine was already finished. Lawrence anticipated this and was unsurprised, but when he went out to the well to wash his face, he was shocked to see Holo walking out of the worship hall with the members of the Church. She had her head bowed and was wearing her cloak, but even so she stopped frequently to chat pleasantly with the churchgoers.
The sight of the devout chatting with the god of the harvest whose existence they refused to acknowledge was amusing, though Lawrence lacked the nerve to find it so.
Holo took her leave from the congregation and quietly approached a dumbfounded Lawrence. She clasped her small hands together in front of her chest and spoke.
"Lord, grant my husband courage."
The well water was chilly due to the approaching winter; Lawrence poured it over his head anyway and pretended not to hear Holo's laughter.
"It's gotten a bit more important, the Church has," said Holo.
Lawrence shook his head to clear it of water, just as Holo had done with her tail the previous day. "The Church has always been important."
"Hardly. It was not so when I came through here from the north. They'd always be going on about how the one god and his twelve angels created the world and how humanity was but borrowing it. Nature is not something created, though. Even then, I thought to myself, 'When did these people learn to tell such jokes?'"
This centuries-old harvest god was talking like a natural philosopher criticizing the Church, which made it all the more amusing. Lawrence dried off and dressed. He wouldn't forget to leave a coin in the tithe-box that was prepared there. One was expected to leave money in the box if one used the well, and the people of the church would be checking. Anyone who failed to leave a donation would have unlucky things said about him. The constantly traveling Lawrence needed all the luck he could get.
Nonetheless, what he tossed in the box was a worn, blackened copper coin that could barely be counted as money.
"I suppose this is a sign of the times, then...much has changed."
Presumably she referred to her homeland, given the desolate expression on her face.
"Have you yourself changed?" asked Lawrence.
"..." Holo shook her head wordlessly. It was somehow a very childish gesture.
"Then I'm sure your homeland hasn't changed, either."
Despite his youth, Lawrence had endured much. He'd been to many nations, met many people, and gained a wide variety of experiences, so he felt qualified to say as much.
All traveling merchants—even those who had run away from their homes—couldn't help holding their homeland dear, since when in a foreign land, one could only trust one's countrymen.
Holo nodded, her face emerging slightly from underneath the cloak.
"'Twould be a disgrace to the name Wisewolf to be comforted by you, though," she said with a smile, turning and heading back toward their room. She gave him a sidelong glance that could've been interpreted as gratitude.
As long as her attitude was that of a very sly, very old person, Lawrence could cope.
It was her childish side that he found difficult.
Lawrence was twenty-five. If he lived in a town he'd be married and taking his wife and children to church. His life was half over, and Holo's childish demeanor penetrated his lonely heart.
"Hey, what keeps you? Hurry!" shouted Holo, looking over her shoulder at him.
It had been a mere two days since Lawrence met Holo, but it felt like much longer.
Lawrence decided to accept Zheren's offer.
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"Well then, I'll be on my way. When you arrive in Pazzio, find a tavern called Yorend; you'll be able to contact me there."
"Yorend, is it? Very well."
Zheren smiled his charming smile again as he took his leave, hefting his burlap sack of dried fruit over his shoulder as he walked on.
Besides actual trading, the most important task that faced a young merchant was exploring the many regions, becoming familiar with the locals and their goods, and making sure his face was remembered. To accomplish this, it was best to carry something well-preserved that could be sold at churches or inns and used as an excuse for conversation, like dried fruit or meat.
Lawrence watched Zheren, feeling a certain nostalgia for the time before he'd acquired his wagon.
"Are we not going with him?" Holo asked as Zheren's form disappeared into the distance. Having checked to see that there was no one around to see her, she was grooming her tail fur.
Possibly because she had to cover her ears with the cloak, she did not bother combing her fall of chestnut hair, merely tying it back with a length of hempen rope. Lawrence felt that she could at least comb it, but he had no comb to offer. He resolved to acquire a comb and hat when the arrived in Pazzio.
"It rained all day yesterday, so he'll make better time on foot than we can on the wagon. There's no need for him to slow down on our account."
"True, merchants are always on about time."
"Time is money."
"Ho-ho! An interesting saying. Time is money, is it?"
"As long as we have time, we can make money."
"'Tis true. Though it's not how I think," said Holo, casting a glance to her tail.
Her magnificent tail was long enough to hang past the back of her knees. The abundant fur would probably fetch a good price if shorn and sold.
"I imagine the farmers you watched over for so many centuries were mindful of time."
As soon as Lawrence said it, he realized he probably shouldn't have. Holo glanced at him as if to say "I'll let you have that one," smiling impishly.
"Hmph. At what have you been looking? The farmers care nary a whit for time. It's the air they're mindful of."
"I don't follow you."
"They wake in the dawn air, work the farm in the morning air, pull the weeds in the afternoon air, twist rope in the rainy air. They worry over their crops in the windy air, watch them grow in the summer air, celebrate the harvest in the autumn air, and in the winter air they wait for spring. They think not of time—like me, they note only the air."
Lawrence couldn't say that he understood all of what Holo said, but there were parts he followed. He nodded, impressed, which seemed to satisfy Holo; she puffed up her chest and sniffed proudly.
The self-proclaimed Wisewolf evidently didn't feel the slightest need for humility.
Just then, a person who seemed to be another traveling merchant came across the road.
Although Holo's ears were hidden by the cloak, her tail was in plain view.
The passerby stared at Holo's tail, although he didn't speak.
In all likelihood he didn't realize it was a tail. Lawrence imagined that if it were him, he'd wonder what kind of fur it was and how much it was worth.
Still, when it came to keeping a straight face, that was a separate matter entirely.
"You're quick enough, but you lack experience."
Apparently having finished her grooming, Holo tucked her tail back underneath her skirt and spoke. The face underneath the cloak was that of a girl barely in her mid-teens, which showed occasional glimpses of someone much younger.
Yet her words had the air of someone much older.
"Still, one will grow wiser with age."
"How many hundreds of years do you think it will take?" Lawrence headed off her attempt to tease him.
Surprised, she laughed loudly. "Ah-ha-ha-ha! You are rather quick, aren't you?"
"Perhaps you're just old and slow."
"Heh-heh. Do you know why we wolves attack people in the mountains?"
Lawrence was unable to keep up with Holo's sudden segue, so he could only answer with a confused, "Er, no."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
"Well then, I'll be on my way. When you arrive in Pazzio, find a tavern called Yorend; you'll be able to contact me there."
"Yorend, is it? Very well."
Zheren smiled his charming smile again as he took his leave, hefting his burlap sack of dried fruit over his shoulder as he walked on.
Besides actual trading, the most important task that faced a young merchant was exploring the many regions, becoming familiar with the locals and their goods, and making sure his face was remembered. To accomplish this, it was best to carry something well-preserved that could be sold at churches or inns and used as an excuse for conversation, like dried fruit or meat.
Lawrence watched Zheren, feeling a certain nostalgia for the time before he'd acquired his wagon.
"Are we not going with him?" Holo asked as Zheren's form disappeared into the distance. Having checked to see that there was no one around to see her, she was grooming her tail fur.
Possibly because she had to cover her ears with the cloak, she did not bother combing her fall of chestnut hair, merely tying it back with a length of hempen rope. Lawrence felt that she could at least comb it, but he had no comb to offer. He resolved to acquire a comb and hat when the arrived in Pazzio.
"It rained all day yesterday, so he'll make better time on foot than we can on the wagon. There's no need for him to slow down on our account."
"True, merchants are always on about time."
"Time is money."
"Ho-ho! An interesting saying. Time is money, is it?"
"As long as we have time, we can make money."
"'Tis true. Though it's not how I think," said Holo, casting a glance to her tail.
Her magnificent tail was long enough to hang past the back of her knees. The abundant fur would probably fetch a good price if shorn and sold.
"I imagine the farmers you watched over for so many centuries were mindful of time."
As soon as Lawrence said it, he realized he probably shouldn't have. Holo glanced at him as if to say "I'll let you have that one," smiling impishly.
"Hmph. At what have you been looking? The farmers care nary a whit for time. It's the air they're mindful of."
"I don't follow you."
"They wake in the dawn air, work the farm in the morning air, pull the weeds in the afternoon air, twist rope in the rainy air. They worry over their crops in the windy air, watch them grow in the summer air, celebrate the harvest in the autumn air, and in the winter air they wait for spring. They think not of time—like me, they note only the air."
Lawrence couldn't say that he understood all of what Holo said, but there were parts he followed. He nodded, impressed, which seemed to satisfy Holo; she puffed up her chest and sniffed proudly.
The self-proclaimed Wisewolf evidently didn't feel the slightest need for humility.
Just then, a person who seemed to be another traveling merchant came across the road.
Although Holo's ears were hidden by the cloak, her tail was in plain view.
The passerby stared at Holo's tail, although he didn't speak.
In all likelihood he didn't realize it was a tail. Lawrence imagined that if it were him, he'd wonder what kind of fur it was and how much it was worth.
Still, when it came to keeping a straight face, that was a separate matter entirely.
"You're quick enough, but you lack experience."
Apparently having finished her grooming, Holo tucked her tail back underneath her skirt and spoke. The face underneath the cloak was that of a girl barely in her mid-teens, which showed occasional glimpses of someone much younger.
Yet her words had the air of someone much older.
"Still, one will grow wiser with age."
"How many hundreds of years do you think it will take?" Lawrence headed off her attempt to tease him.
Surprised, she laughed loudly. "Ah-ha-ha-ha! You are rather quick, aren't you?"
"Perhaps you're just old and slow."
"Heh-heh. Do you know why we wolves attack people in the mountains?"
Lawrence was unable to keep up with Holo's sudden segue, so he could only answer with a confused, "Er, no."
|
Even if she was joking, Lawrence shivered unconsciously, his breath catching.
A few seconds passed; he realized he'd lost.
"You're still a pup. Hardly a match for me."
Holo sighed. Lawrence gripped the reins tightly and stifled a frustrated expression.
"Still, have you ever been attacked by wolves in the mountains?"
It was a strange feeling being asked such a question by a girl with ears, fangs, and a tail. He was having a conversation with a wolf—the same wolf whose presence in the mountains he feared.
"I have. Perhaps...eight times."
"They're quite difficult to handle, are they not?"
"They are. Wild dogs I can handle, but wolves are a problem."
"That's because they want to eat lots of humans, to get their—"
"I'm sorry, all right? So stop."
The third time Lawrence had been set upon by wolves, he was part of a caravan.
Two of the men in the caravan had been unable to clear the mountains. Their cries echoed in Lawrence's ears even now.
His face was expressionless.
"Oh..."
Apparently the perceptive wisewolf had figured it out.
"I am sorry," said a contrite Holo, slumping, almost shrinking.
Lawrence had been attacked by wolves many times. With the memories of the encounters swirling in his head, he was in no mood to answer.
Splish, splosh, went the horse's hooves in the muddy road.
"...Are you angry?"
Such a crafty wolf—she must have known that if she asked like that, he'd be unable to truthfully answer that he was angry.
So he answered. "Yes, I'm angry."
Holo looked up at Lawrence in silence. When he looked back at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pouting—it was charming enough that he almost forgave her.
"I am angry. No more jokes like that," he finally turned to her and said.
Holo nodded resolutely and looked ahead. She now seemed quite meek.
After a period of silence she spoke again. "Wolves live only in the mountains, but dogs have lived with humans. That's why wolves make tougher opponents."
He probably should have ignored her, but doing so would make later conversation difficult. He turned slightly in her direction and gave a sign that he was listening.
"Hm?"
"Wolves only know that they are hunted by humans, and that they are terrifying creatures. So we are always thinking about what to do when they enter our forest."
Holo stared straight ahead as she spoke, as serious as Lawrence had ever seen her.
He didn't think she'd made that story up; he nodded, slowly.
But there was something in her vagueness that worried him.
"Did you ever—"
But Holo stopped him before he could continue. "There are some things I simply cannot answer."
"Oh." Lawrence chided himself for speaking without thinking ahead. "Sorry."
Holo then smiled. "Now we're even."
A twenty-five-year-old was not, it seemed, a match for a Wisewolf.
There was no further conversation, but neither was there any bad air between the two. The horse plodded along, and soon the day had passed and night fell.
A merchant never continued his travels after dark when it had rained. If the wagon became stuck in the mud, seven times out of ten it meant that the goods would have to be abandoned.
To turn a steady profit as a traveling merchant one had to minimize losses, and the road was full of dangers.
Holo suddenly spoke, nestled in the fur pile beneath a sky she'd promised would be clear the next day.
"The worlds we live in, you and I, are very different," she said.
***
The river Slaude meanders slowly across the plains. It it said to trace the path left behind by a giant snake that slithered from the mountains to the west through the plains to the eastern sea, and its wide, slow path is an essential transportation route for the region.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
Even if she was joking, Lawrence shivered unconsciously, his breath catching.
A few seconds passed; he realized he'd lost.
"You're still a pup. Hardly a match for me."
Holo sighed. Lawrence gripped the reins tightly and stifled a frustrated expression.
"Still, have you ever been attacked by wolves in the mountains?"
It was a strange feeling being asked such a question by a girl with ears, fangs, and a tail. He was having a conversation with a wolf—the same wolf whose presence in the mountains he feared.
"I have. Perhaps...eight times."
"They're quite difficult to handle, are they not?"
"They are. Wild dogs I can handle, but wolves are a problem."
"That's because they want to eat lots of humans, to get their—"
"I'm sorry, all right? So stop."
The third time Lawrence had been set upon by wolves, he was part of a caravan.
Two of the men in the caravan had been unable to clear the mountains. Their cries echoed in Lawrence's ears even now.
His face was expressionless.
"Oh..."
Apparently the perceptive wisewolf had figured it out.
"I am sorry," said a contrite Holo, slumping, almost shrinking.
Lawrence had been attacked by wolves many times. With the memories of the encounters swirling in his head, he was in no mood to answer.
Splish, splosh, went the horse's hooves in the muddy road.
"...Are you angry?"
Such a crafty wolf—she must have known that if she asked like that, he'd be unable to truthfully answer that he was angry.
So he answered. "Yes, I'm angry."
Holo looked up at Lawrence in silence. When he looked back at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pouting—it was charming enough that he almost forgave her.
"I am angry. No more jokes like that," he finally turned to her and said.
Holo nodded resolutely and looked ahead. She now seemed quite meek.
After a period of silence she spoke again. "Wolves live only in the mountains, but dogs have lived with humans. That's why wolves make tougher opponents."
He probably should have ignored her, but doing so would make later conversation difficult. He turned slightly in her direction and gave a sign that he was listening.
"Hm?"
"Wolves only know that they are hunted by humans, and that they are terrifying creatures. So we are always thinking about what to do when they enter our forest."
Holo stared straight ahead as she spoke, as serious as Lawrence had ever seen her.
He didn't think she'd made that story up; he nodded, slowly.
But there was something in her vagueness that worried him.
"Did you ever—"
But Holo stopped him before he could continue. "There are some things I simply cannot answer."
"Oh." Lawrence chided himself for speaking without thinking ahead. "Sorry."
Holo then smiled. "Now we're even."
A twenty-five-year-old was not, it seemed, a match for a Wisewolf.
There was no further conversation, but neither was there any bad air between the two. The horse plodded along, and soon the day had passed and night fell.
A merchant never continued his travels after dark when it had rained. If the wagon became stuck in the mud, seven times out of ten it meant that the goods would have to be abandoned.
To turn a steady profit as a traveling merchant one had to minimize losses, and the road was full of dangers.
Holo suddenly spoke, nestled in the fur pile beneath a sky she'd promised would be clear the next day.
"The worlds we live in, you and I, are very different," she said.
***
The river Slaude meanders slowly across the plains. It it said to trace the path left behind by a giant snake that slithered from the mountains to the west through the plains to the eastern sea, and its wide, slow path is an essential transportation route for the region.
|
It was past afternoon but not yet dusk; Lawrence and Holo arrived during the busiest time of the day.
Pazzio's trade had grown since the town recovered its autonomy from the monarchy—now merchants and aristocrats ruled it. Consequently, there were heavy tariffs levied on goods entering the town, but there were no immigration checks or demands for identification. Had it been a castle town, the opposite would be true, and Holo's nonhuman status would be a problem.
"Have they no king here?" was Holo's first utterance upon arriving in the city.
"Is this your first time coming to a city of this size?"
"Times surely change. In my day, a city this large would have been ruled by a king."
Lawrence felt a slight sense of superiority—he'd been to cities many times the size of Pazzio. He tried not to let it show lest Holo point it out. And in any case, he'd been just as naive when he first started out.
"Heh. I'll just say that your intentions are admirable," quipped Holo.
Apparently Lawrence had been a bit careless about hiding his thoughts.
Although Holo's attention was focused on the many shops that lined the road, she'd still noticed his expression. Had it just been a lucky guess? The idea that she could discern his thoughts so easily was unsettling and far from funny.
"This isn't...a festival, is it?"
"If it were a Church celebration day, the streets would be so crowded we couldn't pass through them. Today, though, there's still space."
"Ho. Difficult to imagine that," said Holo with a smile, leaning out of the cart and scanning the merchant stalls they passed.
She looked every bit the country bumpkin on her first visit to the town, but Lawrence suddenly thought of something else.
"Hey."
"Mm?" was her only reply as she continued to stare at the many vendors.
"Will it be all right, not covering your head?"
"Huh? Head?"
"I know it's festival time in Pasloe right now, so most of the villagers will be drinking and celebrating—but not all of them, and some of the ones who don't may be visiting Pazzio right now."
"Oh, that," said Holo, sitting back down in the wagon, suddenly irritated. She looked back at Lawrence, her cloak just barely covering her ears. "Even if they could see my ears, nobody would notice. They've all long forgotten about me."
There was such vehemence in her voice it was a miracle she didn't shout. Lawrence reflexively raised his hands as if calming a startled horse. Holo was no horse, but it seemed to have some effect.
She snorted derisively and pulled the cloak down, facing ahead and pouting.
"You lived there for hundreds of years—surely there are some legends passed down about you. Or did you never take human form?"
"There are legends. And sometimes I'd appear as a human."
"So there are stories about you appearing as a human?"
Holo gave Lawrence a belabored sidelong glance, sighed, then spoke. "As far as I remember, it went something like this. She looks like a beautiful girl of about fifteen. She has long, flowing brown hair and wolf ears, along with a white-tipped tail. Sometimes she would appear in this form, and in exchange for keeping her appearance a secret, she promises a good harvest."
Holo regarded Lawrence flatly with a look that said, "Happy?"
"Well, it sounds like you pretty much told them everything about yourself. Is that really okay?"
"Even if they were to see my ears or tail, they would doubt—just as you did. They'll never realize the truth."
Holo slipped her hand underneath the cloak and fussed with her ears, perhaps because they pushed against the inside of the fabric uncomfortably.
Lawrence looked sideways at her. He wanted her to be more careful, but if he said as much she would surely get genuinely angry.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.
|
It was past afternoon but not yet dusk; Lawrence and Holo arrived during the busiest time of the day.
Pazzio's trade had grown since the town recovered its autonomy from the monarchy—now merchants and aristocrats ruled it. Consequently, there were heavy tariffs levied on goods entering the town, but there were no immigration checks or demands for identification. Had it been a castle town, the opposite would be true, and Holo's nonhuman status would be a problem.
"Have they no king here?" was Holo's first utterance upon arriving in the city.
"Is this your first time coming to a city of this size?"
"Times surely change. In my day, a city this large would have been ruled by a king."
Lawrence felt a slight sense of superiority—he'd been to cities many times the size of Pazzio. He tried not to let it show lest Holo point it out. And in any case, he'd been just as naive when he first started out.
"Heh. I'll just say that your intentions are admirable," quipped Holo.
Apparently Lawrence had been a bit careless about hiding his thoughts.
Although Holo's attention was focused on the many shops that lined the road, she'd still noticed his expression. Had it just been a lucky guess? The idea that she could discern his thoughts so easily was unsettling and far from funny.
"This isn't...a festival, is it?"
"If it were a Church celebration day, the streets would be so crowded we couldn't pass through them. Today, though, there's still space."
"Ho. Difficult to imagine that," said Holo with a smile, leaning out of the cart and scanning the merchant stalls they passed.
She looked every bit the country bumpkin on her first visit to the town, but Lawrence suddenly thought of something else.
"Hey."
"Mm?" was her only reply as she continued to stare at the many vendors.
"Will it be all right, not covering your head?"
"Huh? Head?"
"I know it's festival time in Pasloe right now, so most of the villagers will be drinking and celebrating—but not all of them, and some of the ones who don't may be visiting Pazzio right now."
"Oh, that," said Holo, sitting back down in the wagon, suddenly irritated. She looked back at Lawrence, her cloak just barely covering her ears. "Even if they could see my ears, nobody would notice. They've all long forgotten about me."
There was such vehemence in her voice it was a miracle she didn't shout. Lawrence reflexively raised his hands as if calming a startled horse. Holo was no horse, but it seemed to have some effect.
She snorted derisively and pulled the cloak down, facing ahead and pouting.
"You lived there for hundreds of years—surely there are some legends passed down about you. Or did you never take human form?"
"There are legends. And sometimes I'd appear as a human."
"So there are stories about you appearing as a human?"
Holo gave Lawrence a belabored sidelong glance, sighed, then spoke. "As far as I remember, it went something like this. She looks like a beautiful girl of about fifteen. She has long, flowing brown hair and wolf ears, along with a white-tipped tail. Sometimes she would appear in this form, and in exchange for keeping her appearance a secret, she promises a good harvest."
Holo regarded Lawrence flatly with a look that said, "Happy?"
"Well, it sounds like you pretty much told them everything about yourself. Is that really okay?"
"Even if they were to see my ears or tail, they would doubt—just as you did. They'll never realize the truth."
Holo slipped her hand underneath the cloak and fussed with her ears, perhaps because they pushed against the inside of the fabric uncomfortably.
Lawrence looked sideways at her. He wanted her to be more careful, but if he said as much she would surely get genuinely angry.
|
A few moments after Lawrence resolved not to press the matter, Holo appeared to be considering something. At length, she spoke.
"Hey..."
"Mm?"
"Even...even should they see me, they won't know who I am...will they?"
Her mood had changed completely from before; it was almost as if she wanted to be discovered.
But Lawrence was no fool. He stared expressionlessly forward at the horse. "It is certainly my hope that they won't," he answered.
Holo smiled slightly, almost ruefully. "You needn't worry."
Once Holo started looking happily at the stalls again, Lawrence realized she'd been speaking to herself as well as him.
There was no need to press the matter, however—Holo was quite stubborn.
Lawrence couldn't help smiling at Holo now. She'd cheered up completely and was excitedly looking at the delicious fruits they passed.
"There's quite a collection of fruit! Are they all picked nearby?"
"It's because Pazzio is the gateway to the south. When the season's right, you can even see fruit from regions nearly impossible to visit."
"There is much fruit in the south, and good."
"Surely you have fruit in the north as well."
"Aye, but it's tough and bitter. To make it sweet it must be dried and cured. We wolves can't do such work, so we have to take it from the villages."
Lawrence would've expected birds, horses, or sheep to be more likely targets for wolves. It was hard to imagine them driven by a desire for something sweet. Perhaps a bear—bears often took the leather bags filled with grapes that hung from the eaves of houses.
"I would think wolves would prefer spicy things. It's bears that crave sweets."
"We don't like spicy food. Once we found red fang-shaped fruit among the cargo of a shipwreck. We ate it and regretted it loud and long!"
"Ah, hot peppers. Expensive, those."
"We dunked our heads in the river and decided humans were terrifying indeed," said Holo with a chuckle, enjoying the memory for a moment as she gazed at the stalls. After a time, her smile faded, then finally reappeared as she sighed. The pleasure of nostalgia is never without its companion, loneliness.
Lawrence was trying to decide what he should say when Holo seemed to perk up.
"If it's red fruit we're talking about, I'd rather have those," she said, tugging on his clothing and pointing out a stall.
Beyond the stream of passing people and wagons, there was a stall with a generous pile of apples.
"Oh, those are fine apples."
"Are they not?" Holo's eyes glittered beneath the cloak. He wondered if she noticed that her tail was swishing back and forth underneath her skirts. Perhaps she really did like apples. "They look rather toothsome, no?"
"Indeed."
What Holo was hinting at was clear enough, but Lawrence pretended not to notice.
"Now that I think of it, I had a friend who invested more than half his worth in apples. I'm not sure where they were from, but if they turned out like these, he's surely doubled his money." Lawrence sighed regretfully. "I should've done the same."
Holo's expression shifted as if to say "that's not the point I was trying to make," but again Lawrence pretended not to notice.
"Hmph. Well...that's most unfortunate," Holo replied.
"But the risk was very high. If it were me, I would've transported them by ship."
"A...ship, you say?" As they talked, they continued to move along the road with the clop-clopping of the horse's hooves as accompaniment. Holo was becoming anxious. She clearly wanted the apples, but was just as clearly loath to say so, hence her agitated responses to Lawrence's comments.
"You see, a group of merchants will sometimes pool their money to hire a ship. The amount of money they raise determines the amount and type of cargo, but unlike land transport, if there is an accident you may lose lives as well as money. Even a strong wind can put you in danger. However, there is profit to be had. I've twice traveled by sea this way, so..."
"Mm...ah..."
"What's wrong?
They passed the apple booth, and it began to recede behind them.
|
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