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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Vino took a drink of wine. "Now, then. I suppose I'll need to tell you the legend of the angel before we go. It'll be no good if I wind up telling you the tale in the middle of the witch's forest," he said with a grin.
For all that the villagers avoided the witch's forest, they did not seem to do so in a particularly exaggerated fashion. They seemed to simply acknowledge it as an unlucky place.
"So how much do you all know?"
"That by a forest lake near this village, a beast howled as a door to heaven opened; then an angel flew up into it...roughly."
Vino was ladling more stew into his bowl as Lawrence spoke and wordlessly asked Holo and Col if they wanted another serving. Fran had quietly sipped the broth, leaving even the vegetables in her bowl untouched.
"That's about the size of it. The 'forest' in this case runs along a river that flows from the lake. This happened back when the village elder was a boy, during a cold, cold winter."
Vino filled Holo's and Col's bowls back up and gave a sort of downcast smile, as though embarrassed to be relating a story like this.
"On one windy day, it was so cold that people's ears seemed about to freeze solid and be blown away. The village hunters had been trapped in the forest for three or four days, thanks to a sudden blizzard. Fortunately there was a small charcoal-making cottage beside the waterfall that flowed from the lake. The night the snow finally stopped falling, the skies cleared until there wasn't a cloud to be seen, and the moon shined so brightly they say it was like the sun. The wind still blew fiercely, howling terribly through the forest, but the hunters had been up in the cottage for days, and they all wanted to breathe some of the outside air. They gathered their strength and went out, and just then—"
Everyone was listening intently. A log crackled faintly in the fire.
"—They heard a low, long howl. Ooooo...ooooo...it went, and they were all terribly afraid. There were spirits in the forests and mountains, they remembered, and so they decided to go back into the charcoal cottage. But the moment they tried to do so, the howl stopped. And then they looked toward the lake."
Vino's eyes glanced up at the ceiling, as though to evoke the hunters' gazes at the waterfall.
"And then in that moment they saw a silver, shining angel of pure white, a pair of wings on its back. From the bottom of the waterfall, it beat those wings, flying up through golden doors that had opened in the heavens."
His gaze finally fell, and he put his wine cup to his lips and seemed quite clearly embarrassed. No doubt he enjoyed this particular tale.
"Or so the story goes. It's been passed down as the legend of the angel ever since."
"I see..." Lawrence felt as though he could still see the angel flying up to the heavens on that moonlit night. Myths and superstitions were always extraordinary things. But because they still had a strange ring of reality to them, they were nonetheless passed down over the generations.
"But nobody's seen an angel since. I hear the story once reached town and our village was quite lively for a while, but lately all it's good for is making children happy." Vino's eyes narrowed in a self-deprecating smile.
"So, Mr. Vino, do you..."
"Hmm?"
"Do you think it's just a legend, too?" It was an unfair question to ask, but Lawrence asked it anyway.
"Well...Who knows, eh?" Unsurprisingly, Vino looked down at his hands, smiling bashfully. It seemed as though he wanted to believe, but was unable to quite bring himself to do so.
"As for us, we'd like to believe it."
| Vino stopped short, and for a moment he looked very tired. Lawrence had seen similar expressions many times before. It was the expression that came as the world's dark places were lit one by one, casting doubt upon things once embraced and making the world very different from the fantastical one within which it would be vastly preferable to live.
When Lawrence had left his village as a child, he too had been shocked as he had learned these things. Col seemed pained as he watched Vino, probably because his experiences of this process were much more recent. The only one looking at Vino unmoved was Holo.
But Lawrence very much doubted that her heart was at ease.
"If our village's angel legend is like that, too, well...that's a bit sad. Nothing to do about it, though." Vino shrugged and took a sip of wine. "The clever ones of the village say it must have been the snow, blowing up in the light to look like angels' wings. And perhaps that's really so."
Holo and Huskins alike knew what it was to be forgotten and left behind and to have to accommodate themselves to the human world, enduring constant trouble, unable to stand by and watch as humans severed their ties with the old world.
Lawrence hesitated to ask Vino any further questions. Everyone had times when they wished to return to being a child.
"Oh, and now I've shared this strange story with you important Church types. And here you probably hoped it was true, eh? But please don't think the good people of Taussig are unbelievers with no faith in angels, eh? Even I want to believe, after all!"
Lawrence smiled and nodded. If the villagers felt this way about the angel legend, it let them keep a bit of space between themselves and the story of the witch. If Vino had been a truly hardheaded believer, he might have frozen up like the village elder at the first mention of said witch.
"Although...I don't know that I should ask you to believe in our angel legend."
"Hmm?" said Lawrence, which made Fran direct her gaze at him, too.
Vino stood with a quiet "Hup," then spoke in a practiced, careful tone. "The talk of the witch, you see. It's not unrelated to the legend of the angel," he said, not looking at a single one of them as he sheathed the knife with which he had eaten the venison at his belt. He scratched his nose and seemed to stare far away. Finally his attention returned, his face that of a hunter.
"Misfortune always comes from the outside. Mueller's always saying it."
Being the very definition of something that came from the outside, Lawrence could find nothing to say.
So he began preparing to take his leave, rushing Holo and Col—though not Fran, of course—through finishing their last bowls of stew.
After saying their regards to Mueller and the others who were busy tanning the deer hides in the square, Lawrence and company left the village led by Vino. Evidently there was a path that led from the village into the forest, but it wasn't one that horses or wagons could use. Heading out of the village, they would detour around the forest, up a now-unused path that ran along the river that flowed out of the lake.
The road commanded a view of the too-close mountains as it ran alongside the forested foothills, and it gave Lawrence a none-too-good feeling. The road felt likely to be swallowed up at any moment by the green that seemed to melt out of the mountains.
The wagon wheels slid over the snow on the road, and Lawrence wondered how much progress they were actually making.
Finally they reached the place where the stream emerged from the forest.
"Just go north from here. The riverbed's really wide, see? Used to be the river filled it up all the way, they say."
It was plenty wide enough to accommodate the wagon. And because the riverbed did not just seem like nothing but rocks beneath the snow, it must have been many years since the river had flowed through it.
"Still, I'm impressed that you go out to hunt in this weather. I was surprised to hear you'd gotten deer."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Vino stopped short, and for a moment he looked very tired. Lawrence had seen similar expressions many times before. It was the expression that came as the world's dark places were lit one by one, casting doubt upon things once embraced and making the world very different from the fantastical one within which it would be vastly preferable to live.
When Lawrence had left his village as a child, he too had been shocked as he had learned these things. Col seemed pained as he watched Vino, probably because his experiences of this process were much more recent. The only one looking at Vino unmoved was Holo.
But Lawrence very much doubted that her heart was at ease.
"If our village's angel legend is like that, too, well...that's a bit sad. Nothing to do about it, though." Vino shrugged and took a sip of wine. "The clever ones of the village say it must have been the snow, blowing up in the light to look like angels' wings. And perhaps that's really so."
Holo and Huskins alike knew what it was to be forgotten and left behind and to have to accommodate themselves to the human world, enduring constant trouble, unable to stand by and watch as humans severed their ties with the old world.
Lawrence hesitated to ask Vino any further questions. Everyone had times when they wished to return to being a child.
"Oh, and now I've shared this strange story with you important Church types. And here you probably hoped it was true, eh? But please don't think the good people of Taussig are unbelievers with no faith in angels, eh? Even I want to believe, after all!"
Lawrence smiled and nodded. If the villagers felt this way about the angel legend, it let them keep a bit of space between themselves and the story of the witch. If Vino had been a truly hardheaded believer, he might have frozen up like the village elder at the first mention of said witch.
"Although...I don't know that I should ask you to believe in our angel legend."
"Hmm?" said Lawrence, which made Fran direct her gaze at him, too.
Vino stood with a quiet "Hup," then spoke in a practiced, careful tone. "The talk of the witch, you see. It's not unrelated to the legend of the angel," he said, not looking at a single one of them as he sheathed the knife with which he had eaten the venison at his belt. He scratched his nose and seemed to stare far away. Finally his attention returned, his face that of a hunter.
"Misfortune always comes from the outside. Mueller's always saying it."
Being the very definition of something that came from the outside, Lawrence could find nothing to say.
So he began preparing to take his leave, rushing Holo and Col—though not Fran, of course—through finishing their last bowls of stew.
After saying their regards to Mueller and the others who were busy tanning the deer hides in the square, Lawrence and company left the village led by Vino. Evidently there was a path that led from the village into the forest, but it wasn't one that horses or wagons could use. Heading out of the village, they would detour around the forest, up a now-unused path that ran along the river that flowed out of the lake.
The road commanded a view of the too-close mountains as it ran alongside the forested foothills, and it gave Lawrence a none-too-good feeling. The road felt likely to be swallowed up at any moment by the green that seemed to melt out of the mountains.
The wagon wheels slid over the snow on the road, and Lawrence wondered how much progress they were actually making.
Finally they reached the place where the stream emerged from the forest.
"Just go north from here. The riverbed's really wide, see? Used to be the river filled it up all the way, they say."
It was plenty wide enough to accommodate the wagon. And because the riverbed did not just seem like nothing but rocks beneath the snow, it must have been many years since the river had flowed through it.
"Still, I'm impressed that you go out to hunt in this weather. I was surprised to hear you'd gotten deer."
| His boastful talk did not really suit the taciturn hunter image, but since there was one such hunter very close by, Lawrence smiled indulgently and left it at that. And anyway, even if it was not so, he was perfectly aware of just how dangerous it was to be disliked by the population of a snowy mountain village.
"But there's a lake, isn't there? Seems like animals would gather there."
"So you might think, but the hunting itself has been strange around here for years."
"What do you mean?"
"It's because of the witch. The forest around the lake is the witch's forest, and nobody from the village will go near it."
Lawrence found himself a bit taken aback at how readily Vino admitted to this.
Vino seemed to notice Lawrence's surprise, and his expression turned awkward. "Ah, this is just the sort of thing that makes people misunderstand. It's not that we really think there's a witch. Truly."
Lawrence glanced at Holo, but apparently Vino was not lying. It seemed the witch occupied a strange, ineffable position in the minds of the villagers of Taussig.
"So when you say 'witch,' you mean..."
"I hear originally it had to do with some important nun. Er..." Vino looked up at Fran on her horse.
Fran slowly looked back at him, then cocked her head curiously and smiled a gentle smile. "?"
"Ah, apologies. I can't seem to remember her name...but anyway, she existed. From a town called Enos on the Woam River?"
"Perhaps you mean Lenos and the Roam River."
"Ah, yes, that. Anyway, that's where she was, and she was beautiful and clever. She gave such wonderful sermons that even God would be enchanted by them, they say."
Holo looked over at Lawrence as she nodded. She could always be counted upon to react whenever talk of a beautiful woman came up.
Lawrence shrugged and then returned his attention to Vino.
"Her fervor reformed many a wicked heart. But because she preached every waking hour of every day, eventually she had run out of people in the town who needed to hear her message. So then she began to give her message to a different group."
Lawrence found himself hanging on Vino's words. He had done the same during the angel story—the man was a skilled storyteller. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why he had been put in charge of handling them.
"She began with birds and cats. Everyone in town praised her mercy and her charity. But then she began to preach to pigs and rats, and then the wind began to change. Eventually the stray dogs that wandered the city began to chase her, and yet still she preached like a woman possessed. The people of the town wanted her to stop, but she wouldn't consider it. Then one day..."
Their footsteps crunched in the icy snow. Col was so taken in by the story that both of his hands were clenched into fists as he listened.
"...She vanished. Along with the dogs that had hounded her for her sermons."
Vino blew into his hands as though scattering downy feathers.
Col followed their imaginary path up into the sky with his gaze before hastily bringing his attention back down to earth.
"Er—then what happened? She disappeared and what happened to her?"
"Now, now, don't worry yourself so. This was a story Mueller heard in town. From here on out, it becomes the story as we saw it ourselves."
Ah, Lawrence thought. He had wondered how the story was so detailed. Apparently Mueller had been the village representative and had gone into town, hearing the tale while he was there. Then they had probably seen an eccentric nun passing through.
"It was the height of a hot summer. It was a terrible season. We were suffering out in the wheat fields, and insects swarmed everywhere. Maybe ten years ago, it was. That's when the nun came, wearing robes too thick even for winter. We were all astonished to see her because behind her trailed countless stray dogs."
Lawrence imagined a heavily dressed nun arriving with a procession of stray dogs behind her on a shimmering-hot summer day. It was a deeply eerie image.
Col grabbed on to Holo's robe.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | His boastful talk did not really suit the taciturn hunter image, but since there was one such hunter very close by, Lawrence smiled indulgently and left it at that. And anyway, even if it was not so, he was perfectly aware of just how dangerous it was to be disliked by the population of a snowy mountain village.
"But there's a lake, isn't there? Seems like animals would gather there."
"So you might think, but the hunting itself has been strange around here for years."
"What do you mean?"
"It's because of the witch. The forest around the lake is the witch's forest, and nobody from the village will go near it."
Lawrence found himself a bit taken aback at how readily Vino admitted to this.
Vino seemed to notice Lawrence's surprise, and his expression turned awkward. "Ah, this is just the sort of thing that makes people misunderstand. It's not that we really think there's a witch. Truly."
Lawrence glanced at Holo, but apparently Vino was not lying. It seemed the witch occupied a strange, ineffable position in the minds of the villagers of Taussig.
"So when you say 'witch,' you mean..."
"I hear originally it had to do with some important nun. Er..." Vino looked up at Fran on her horse.
Fran slowly looked back at him, then cocked her head curiously and smiled a gentle smile. "?"
"Ah, apologies. I can't seem to remember her name...but anyway, she existed. From a town called Enos on the Woam River?"
"Perhaps you mean Lenos and the Roam River."
"Ah, yes, that. Anyway, that's where she was, and she was beautiful and clever. She gave such wonderful sermons that even God would be enchanted by them, they say."
Holo looked over at Lawrence as she nodded. She could always be counted upon to react whenever talk of a beautiful woman came up.
Lawrence shrugged and then returned his attention to Vino.
"Her fervor reformed many a wicked heart. But because she preached every waking hour of every day, eventually she had run out of people in the town who needed to hear her message. So then she began to give her message to a different group."
Lawrence found himself hanging on Vino's words. He had done the same during the angel story—the man was a skilled storyteller. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why he had been put in charge of handling them.
"She began with birds and cats. Everyone in town praised her mercy and her charity. But then she began to preach to pigs and rats, and then the wind began to change. Eventually the stray dogs that wandered the city began to chase her, and yet still she preached like a woman possessed. The people of the town wanted her to stop, but she wouldn't consider it. Then one day..."
Their footsteps crunched in the icy snow. Col was so taken in by the story that both of his hands were clenched into fists as he listened.
"...She vanished. Along with the dogs that had hounded her for her sermons."
Vino blew into his hands as though scattering downy feathers.
Col followed their imaginary path up into the sky with his gaze before hastily bringing his attention back down to earth.
"Er—then what happened? She disappeared and what happened to her?"
"Now, now, don't worry yourself so. This was a story Mueller heard in town. From here on out, it becomes the story as we saw it ourselves."
Ah, Lawrence thought. He had wondered how the story was so detailed. Apparently Mueller had been the village representative and had gone into town, hearing the tale while he was there. Then they had probably seen an eccentric nun passing through.
"It was the height of a hot summer. It was a terrible season. We were suffering out in the wheat fields, and insects swarmed everywhere. Maybe ten years ago, it was. That's when the nun came, wearing robes too thick even for winter. We were all astonished to see her because behind her trailed countless stray dogs."
Lawrence imagined a heavily dressed nun arriving with a procession of stray dogs behind her on a shimmering-hot summer day. It was a deeply eerie image.
Col grabbed on to Holo's robe.
| "I'm very sorry to hear that..."
"Ah, he was such a bother then; it's a mercy he's quieter now. Anyway, back to the nun outside of town. Mueller was brave enough to go out to ask her what her intentions were—who she was, and where she came from, what she wanted. And this is how she answered."
She had heard that here was a path taken by an angel. It was as though they could hear her hoarse voice speaking.
"We realized she was talking about the legend of the angel that was connected to the forest and the lake. Even Mueller wanted to be rid of her, so we led her straight there. But—"
Lawrence was sure he could hear Col swallow nervously.
"—The moment we arrived at the forest, the nun ordered her dogs to attack. Here, here's the scar I got."
Vino bared his arm, showing it to Col, who, of all of them, was the most taken in by the tale.
Lawrence and Holo both peered over to get a look for themselves, and then their gazes met.
Neither of them said anything or betrayed any expression, but the scar was surely a strike from a club or stick. And it seemed quite old—undoubtedly from Vino's childhood.
But his tale was so entertaining that neither Holo nor Lawrence threw cold water on it.
"After that, she took the forest with her dogs and let none enter, living there as though it belonged to her. They were our best hunting grounds, but we had no choice but to find new places to hunt. A terrible story, is it not? That's why everyone calls her a witch. It's out of spite, and that's a fact."
"So, what happened to the witch?" Lawrence asked.
Vino sighed resentfully. "Who knows? No one's seen her for years, so maybe she's gone somewhere else...But since no one will venture to check, there's no way to be sure. It's best to let sleeping dogs lie, after all, don't you think?"
Lawrence nodded slowly. Things were different for a traveling merchant who could easily move from one town to another. They could have a look and move on if conditions looked dangerous—but such options were not available to villagers.
"We don't want to invite any extra trouble, so we've just stopped going to the forest. Will you all really be all right staying the night there?"
Only those who had never faced the mountains at night and the true terror of the forest would mock their fear of the so-called witch. Even supposing the term witch was no more than a name they had settled on, fear was a natural reaction.
So Lawrence made sure to respond brightly, "Oh yes. After all, three of us are servants of God."
Fran and Holo looked the part, but Vino seemed not to understand about Col.
"He's an apprentice scribe, you see, training to copy the scriptures. It's a blessed vocation."
Vino seemed surprised and apologized. "Ah, excuse my rudeness."
"If anything, it's more dangerous for them to spend the night with me." It was a more obvious joke than it was clever. Vino laughed aloud, but Lawrence made a serious face. "Ah, that said..."
"Hmm?"
"If the worst happens and we return to the village during the night, please don't mistake us for the witch and chase us off, eh?"
Vino looked at Lawrence blankly for a moment. He then burst again into laughter. "Ha-ha, of course not! We're used to life in the mountains, and even some of us have come crying home after our first night in the charcoal cottage. Our own children have to go into the mountains, so we smack them hard and send them back out. We won't treat you the same way, though."
Lawrence remembered the first time he went into the forest with his old master.
"The night road is dangerous, but every night has its dawn. I can tell you that much as a man of the mountains myself."
He was a good villager. Lawrence nodded at his words with a smile.
"Well, then," said Vino, taking a breath and bringing the jovial conversation to an end.
The scenery itself was a normal riverside road, which did not change for as far as it could be seen, up until the river took a turn out of sight, taking the road with it.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "I'm very sorry to hear that..."
"Ah, he was such a bother then; it's a mercy he's quieter now. Anyway, back to the nun outside of town. Mueller was brave enough to go out to ask her what her intentions were—who she was, and where she came from, what she wanted. And this is how she answered."
She had heard that here was a path taken by an angel. It was as though they could hear her hoarse voice speaking.
"We realized she was talking about the legend of the angel that was connected to the forest and the lake. Even Mueller wanted to be rid of her, so we led her straight there. But—"
Lawrence was sure he could hear Col swallow nervously.
"—The moment we arrived at the forest, the nun ordered her dogs to attack. Here, here's the scar I got."
Vino bared his arm, showing it to Col, who, of all of them, was the most taken in by the tale.
Lawrence and Holo both peered over to get a look for themselves, and then their gazes met.
Neither of them said anything or betrayed any expression, but the scar was surely a strike from a club or stick. And it seemed quite old—undoubtedly from Vino's childhood.
But his tale was so entertaining that neither Holo nor Lawrence threw cold water on it.
"After that, she took the forest with her dogs and let none enter, living there as though it belonged to her. They were our best hunting grounds, but we had no choice but to find new places to hunt. A terrible story, is it not? That's why everyone calls her a witch. It's out of spite, and that's a fact."
"So, what happened to the witch?" Lawrence asked.
Vino sighed resentfully. "Who knows? No one's seen her for years, so maybe she's gone somewhere else...But since no one will venture to check, there's no way to be sure. It's best to let sleeping dogs lie, after all, don't you think?"
Lawrence nodded slowly. Things were different for a traveling merchant who could easily move from one town to another. They could have a look and move on if conditions looked dangerous—but such options were not available to villagers.
"We don't want to invite any extra trouble, so we've just stopped going to the forest. Will you all really be all right staying the night there?"
Only those who had never faced the mountains at night and the true terror of the forest would mock their fear of the so-called witch. Even supposing the term witch was no more than a name they had settled on, fear was a natural reaction.
So Lawrence made sure to respond brightly, "Oh yes. After all, three of us are servants of God."
Fran and Holo looked the part, but Vino seemed not to understand about Col.
"He's an apprentice scribe, you see, training to copy the scriptures. It's a blessed vocation."
Vino seemed surprised and apologized. "Ah, excuse my rudeness."
"If anything, it's more dangerous for them to spend the night with me." It was a more obvious joke than it was clever. Vino laughed aloud, but Lawrence made a serious face. "Ah, that said..."
"Hmm?"
"If the worst happens and we return to the village during the night, please don't mistake us for the witch and chase us off, eh?"
Vino looked at Lawrence blankly for a moment. He then burst again into laughter. "Ha-ha, of course not! We're used to life in the mountains, and even some of us have come crying home after our first night in the charcoal cottage. Our own children have to go into the mountains, so we smack them hard and send them back out. We won't treat you the same way, though."
Lawrence remembered the first time he went into the forest with his old master.
"The night road is dangerous, but every night has its dawn. I can tell you that much as a man of the mountains myself."
He was a good villager. Lawrence nodded at his words with a smile.
"Well, then," said Vino, taking a breath and bringing the jovial conversation to an end.
The scenery itself was a normal riverside road, which did not change for as far as it could be seen, up until the river took a turn out of sight, taking the road with it.
| Just what you would expect from a villager whose forest harbored the legend of an angel, Lawrence thought.
The earthen path that emerged from the forest by the riverside was very smooth. What bumps existed were smoothed by snow, such that the wagon traveled very easily over them.
Once Vino passed out of view, Holo hopped up to the driver's seat.
"I don't like it," were the first words out of her mouth. She had a small cask in her hand, which, if Lawrence's memory served, was distilled liquor for emergency purposes.
He tried to snatch it away from her, but Holo bared her teeth intimidatingly. "We've gotten all she asked, and still she's so haughty."
Fran had taken the lead, as though she felt hurried. It was true they'd had no trouble getting the villagers to tell them their stories, but as Fran had said and Holo agreed, they had yet to learn the truth.
From that perspective, it was hardly surprising that Fran had little to say, but that did not improve Holo's mood. "Are you not irritated yourself?" she asked.
Lawrence drew back slightly. "If I got angry at every little thing, my body wouldn't be able to hold it all."
Holo shot him a glare as she gnawed at the edge of the cask, but she no doubt understood his logic.
Perhaps she was already drunk. Lawrence sighed heavily as the thought occurred to him. The cask was thrust roughly at him.
"You're too kind," said Holo.
"—Hey!"
Before Lawrence could stop her, Holo had returned to the wagon bed.
Lawrence wondered what she was on about, then he looked at the cask and realized. The plug had been removed but little of the contents had been emptied, so it seemed unlikely that Holo was drunk.
But Holo did have a selfish streak, and he decided she was merely being uncooperative. He replaced the plug in the cask and picked the reins back up.
Thereafter progress was steady, and when Fran finally stopped her horse, they found themselves in front of the little charcoal cottage that commanded a fine view of the waterfall, which despite the small volume of water was quite impressive.
The cottage was huddled beneath two large trees, perhaps because there could be heavy snowfall here. "Don't build a roof on a roof," the old saying went, but in this case Lawrence felt it could be forgiven. The tree branches would handle snow removal themselves as they bent under the weight of accumulated snow.
Fran climbed down from her horse and approached the cottage without any particular hesitation. Given Vino's story about how the villagers had been driven away by dogs, Lawrence hastily came down from the driver's seat of the wagon.
"It's fine," said Fran as she opened the doors. She did it so smoothly and quickly that there was no chance to stop her.
Lawrence stood there stunned, and Holo came over, dragging Col behind her, whose gaze flicked around their surroundings worriedly.
"She seems to be rather certain of herself."
While he did not find Fran's every move to be irritating the way Holo did, Lawrence had to agree with her in this case. It seemed as though this was not Fran's first visit here.
Moreover, while the cottage seemed ancient, it didn't have the dusty, dingy feeling of a place that had gone unused for long years. Vino claimed that the villagers no longer entered the forest, but Lawrence was postponing his belief in that particular story.
"Mr. Lawrence, our things," said Fran, her head emerging from within the cottage.
Lawrence felt as though he had returned to his apprentice days. "I'll get them right away," he replied. And then, as he passed Holo on the way—"Don't fight with her."
He got a kick for his trouble, but Col's face brightened at this when previously he had been visibly scared of the witch, so perhaps it was for the best.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Just what you would expect from a villager whose forest harbored the legend of an angel, Lawrence thought.
The earthen path that emerged from the forest by the riverside was very smooth. What bumps existed were smoothed by snow, such that the wagon traveled very easily over them.
Once Vino passed out of view, Holo hopped up to the driver's seat.
"I don't like it," were the first words out of her mouth. She had a small cask in her hand, which, if Lawrence's memory served, was distilled liquor for emergency purposes.
He tried to snatch it away from her, but Holo bared her teeth intimidatingly. "We've gotten all she asked, and still she's so haughty."
Fran had taken the lead, as though she felt hurried. It was true they'd had no trouble getting the villagers to tell them their stories, but as Fran had said and Holo agreed, they had yet to learn the truth.
From that perspective, it was hardly surprising that Fran had little to say, but that did not improve Holo's mood. "Are you not irritated yourself?" she asked.
Lawrence drew back slightly. "If I got angry at every little thing, my body wouldn't be able to hold it all."
Holo shot him a glare as she gnawed at the edge of the cask, but she no doubt understood his logic.
Perhaps she was already drunk. Lawrence sighed heavily as the thought occurred to him. The cask was thrust roughly at him.
"You're too kind," said Holo.
"—Hey!"
Before Lawrence could stop her, Holo had returned to the wagon bed.
Lawrence wondered what she was on about, then he looked at the cask and realized. The plug had been removed but little of the contents had been emptied, so it seemed unlikely that Holo was drunk.
But Holo did have a selfish streak, and he decided she was merely being uncooperative. He replaced the plug in the cask and picked the reins back up.
Thereafter progress was steady, and when Fran finally stopped her horse, they found themselves in front of the little charcoal cottage that commanded a fine view of the waterfall, which despite the small volume of water was quite impressive.
The cottage was huddled beneath two large trees, perhaps because there could be heavy snowfall here. "Don't build a roof on a roof," the old saying went, but in this case Lawrence felt it could be forgiven. The tree branches would handle snow removal themselves as they bent under the weight of accumulated snow.
Fran climbed down from her horse and approached the cottage without any particular hesitation. Given Vino's story about how the villagers had been driven away by dogs, Lawrence hastily came down from the driver's seat of the wagon.
"It's fine," said Fran as she opened the doors. She did it so smoothly and quickly that there was no chance to stop her.
Lawrence stood there stunned, and Holo came over, dragging Col behind her, whose gaze flicked around their surroundings worriedly.
"She seems to be rather certain of herself."
While he did not find Fran's every move to be irritating the way Holo did, Lawrence had to agree with her in this case. It seemed as though this was not Fran's first visit here.
Moreover, while the cottage seemed ancient, it didn't have the dusty, dingy feeling of a place that had gone unused for long years. Vino claimed that the villagers no longer entered the forest, but Lawrence was postponing his belief in that particular story.
"Mr. Lawrence, our things," said Fran, her head emerging from within the cottage.
Lawrence felt as though he had returned to his apprentice days. "I'll get them right away," he replied. And then, as he passed Holo on the way—"Don't fight with her."
He got a kick for his trouble, but Col's face brightened at this when previously he had been visibly scared of the witch, so perhaps it was for the best.
| Moreover, while the interior of the cottage was a bit dusty, there were no spiderwebs, and the planks were free from rot, and the tidy little roof was even without holes.
Someone had to be visiting regularly to perform maintenance and cleaning. Had the last visit been before the snowfall?
Lawrence wondered about it as he wiped sweat from his brow. Holo looked into the room from a passage that led to another room farther in, her head pushing aside a hanging animal skin that divided the two rooms and could not have been there for very long.
"Where's the fool?"
She meant Fran. Lawrence pointed outside. "She went to fetch her silversmithing tools from the wagon. I suppose she didn't want me touching them."
"Mm." Holo nodded, cracking her neck audibly.
"Where's Col?" Lawrence did not joke about her having again left him somewhere.
"You'll find out when you come back here." Holo let the skin partition fall and hide her face, and Lawrence heard her footsteps disappear farther into the room.
Just as he was wondering what was back there, Fran returned. Her chisel, hammer, rasp, bellows, and anvil were each small, but taken together accounted for a goodly weight. Fran had impressively packed them all up and hefted them over her shoulder. When she traveled alone, just what sorts of treacherous mountain roads did she face with such aplomb?
She seemed so well accustomed to the load that Lawrence could easily imagine it.
"The other two are in the back?"
"Yes. Ah, let me help you." It was harder to set down a heavy load than it was to carry it.
But Fran shook her head and bent at the knees, well used to the process of setting the tools down.
How many times had Lawrence's master scolded him for picking up or putting down heavy loads with his back? It was all too easy for such labor to result in pain. Physical labor had its own sort of wisdom to it, and Lawrence wondered where she had picked it up.
"Is there something more back there?" Lawrence asked Fran as she got out the straw and flint needed to light a fire, but she did not immediately answer. Instead, she faced him with the straw and flint and then looked meaningfully at the hearth. Lawrence could only assume she meant him to busy himself with starting a fire, but seen from outside, he imagined it looked rather pathetic for him to be ordered around so.
But he took the stone and straw and knelt down in front of the hearth to attend to the fire. It was then that she answered him.
"You'll understand when you see. Anyway, I'll need to borrow something."
"...Huh?" Lawrence did not even have time to ask what she wanted to borrow before Fran disappeared behind the skin partition. He wondered what she could be referring to as he started the fire. Presently, two sets of footsteps approached him.
"You'll be cold dressed like that. Put these on." Fran produced a pair of fine boots from her things and presented them to Col.
They were made from several layers of beautifully tanned leather, and buying them would have cost a good amount. Col accepted the boots, looking at Lawrence uncertainly. Lawrence nodded—it was not as though Fran was going to eat the boy when he put them on.
"We'll be back before sunset. Can I leave dinner in your hands?"
Lawrence was the one who needed her to draw him a map of the northlands, so he had little room to refuse her. Far from it—that she had said anything at all made it feel like she was opening up a little bit, so Lawrence answered in a pleasant affirmative. Holo might have been irritated at him had she been there, but Fran nodded and took Col's hand, leading him outside, his boots clunking against the floor as he went.
Once Lawrence had the fire good and lit, he stood up and headed for the back room.
The floor of the hallway was plain earth, and even with boots on, he could tell how cold the air was. And yet, here too it was neat and tidy and free from cobwebs. Strangely, there was not even a single mouse hole gnawed in the walls.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Moreover, while the interior of the cottage was a bit dusty, there were no spiderwebs, and the planks were free from rot, and the tidy little roof was even without holes.
Someone had to be visiting regularly to perform maintenance and cleaning. Had the last visit been before the snowfall?
Lawrence wondered about it as he wiped sweat from his brow. Holo looked into the room from a passage that led to another room farther in, her head pushing aside a hanging animal skin that divided the two rooms and could not have been there for very long.
"Where's the fool?"
She meant Fran. Lawrence pointed outside. "She went to fetch her silversmithing tools from the wagon. I suppose she didn't want me touching them."
"Mm." Holo nodded, cracking her neck audibly.
"Where's Col?" Lawrence did not joke about her having again left him somewhere.
"You'll find out when you come back here." Holo let the skin partition fall and hide her face, and Lawrence heard her footsteps disappear farther into the room.
Just as he was wondering what was back there, Fran returned. Her chisel, hammer, rasp, bellows, and anvil were each small, but taken together accounted for a goodly weight. Fran had impressively packed them all up and hefted them over her shoulder. When she traveled alone, just what sorts of treacherous mountain roads did she face with such aplomb?
She seemed so well accustomed to the load that Lawrence could easily imagine it.
"The other two are in the back?"
"Yes. Ah, let me help you." It was harder to set down a heavy load than it was to carry it.
But Fran shook her head and bent at the knees, well used to the process of setting the tools down.
How many times had Lawrence's master scolded him for picking up or putting down heavy loads with his back? It was all too easy for such labor to result in pain. Physical labor had its own sort of wisdom to it, and Lawrence wondered where she had picked it up.
"Is there something more back there?" Lawrence asked Fran as she got out the straw and flint needed to light a fire, but she did not immediately answer. Instead, she faced him with the straw and flint and then looked meaningfully at the hearth. Lawrence could only assume she meant him to busy himself with starting a fire, but seen from outside, he imagined it looked rather pathetic for him to be ordered around so.
But he took the stone and straw and knelt down in front of the hearth to attend to the fire. It was then that she answered him.
"You'll understand when you see. Anyway, I'll need to borrow something."
"...Huh?" Lawrence did not even have time to ask what she wanted to borrow before Fran disappeared behind the skin partition. He wondered what she could be referring to as he started the fire. Presently, two sets of footsteps approached him.
"You'll be cold dressed like that. Put these on." Fran produced a pair of fine boots from her things and presented them to Col.
They were made from several layers of beautifully tanned leather, and buying them would have cost a good amount. Col accepted the boots, looking at Lawrence uncertainly. Lawrence nodded—it was not as though Fran was going to eat the boy when he put them on.
"We'll be back before sunset. Can I leave dinner in your hands?"
Lawrence was the one who needed her to draw him a map of the northlands, so he had little room to refuse her. Far from it—that she had said anything at all made it feel like she was opening up a little bit, so Lawrence answered in a pleasant affirmative. Holo might have been irritated at him had she been there, but Fran nodded and took Col's hand, leading him outside, his boots clunking against the floor as he went.
Once Lawrence had the fire good and lit, he stood up and headed for the back room.
The floor of the hallway was plain earth, and even with boots on, he could tell how cold the air was. And yet, here too it was neat and tidy and free from cobwebs. Strangely, there was not even a single mouse hole gnawed in the walls.
| "Huh?" That was all wrong—Holo was standing in front of the bookshelf, sniffing at the dusty books there.
So who was sitting in the chair?
Lawrence looked back again, and thanks to the sliver of light that made it through a crack in the wooden window, he realized that the figure in the chair was slightly taller than Holo, her hood was worn, and the hem of her robe was riddled with patches.
"I expect this is the 'witch' the villagers were on about," Holo said casually, returning a book to the shelf and then poking the figure in the head.
"H-hey!"
"What? It's fine. She's long since dried out. I thought Col might be frightened, but he's a stronger lad than I reckoned."
In places closed off by snow, it was not uncommon to encounter desiccated corpses from time to time. This led Lawrence to wonder if Col had been taken out on a mountain search.
"Still, to die gazing at a symbol of the Church...hard to imagine she was a witch."
"Col says she was a rather well-known person."
"Oh?"
The shelves in the room were all full of books and bundles of parchment. There was no mistaking it any longer.
After the nun came here on her eccentric journey, there was someone else who had come to adore her and was still coming to this place even after her death. Otherwise the books would not be so orderly, the cottage so clean and tidy.
Lawrence put his hands together lightly and offered a short prayer for the dead nun before turning his attention to the papers on the desk. They were dusty and aging, but the letters on them could still be made out. Evidently there had been an inquiry into her faith. It seemed that while she was alive her religious fervor had caused her to be viewed with suspicion, but she may very well have been a simple nun.
A single look at the wildflower arranged at the corner of the desk dismissed all worries of her being a witch.
"Still, you."
"Hmm?"
Holo was again looking intently at the contents of the bookshelf, and she pointed to one of the shelves in particular.
"Have a look at this."
"Where?"
Lawrence looked at the shelf, where there was a space just large enough for one missing volume.
"It must be somewhere else, right?"
"Fool. Have a look at the dust. It's different there than elsewhere."
No matter how thoroughly a room was cleaned, dust would settle in it. And when Lawrence looked closely at the gap, he saw that while there was indeed a thin layer of dust there, it was less than elsewhere.
"I don't know how long ago, but at some point someone took a single volume from here."
"So what are you saying?"
Holo gave the room another brief look and then regarded Lawrence suspiciously.
"You've figured it out, haven't you? Someone's been coming here."
She was referring to the onetime residence of the nun. Vino the villager had said no one would approach it. But as Holo had not called him out, there was no reason to believe he was lying. Which meant it had to be someone unrelated to the village. Or a villager of whose actions Vino was unaware.
And what book had been taken?
"That little fool knew of this place before we came here," said Holo finally, glaring at Lawrence. "Don't let your guard down," her eyes said.
"I know. But where did she say she was going with Col?"
"Hmm. She said she was going to have a look at the lake."
"The lake?"
"Don't ask me why. I've no idea."
Given her displeasure, Holo was probably irritated at Fran's ordering around of not only Lawrence, but Col as well. But then he hit upon an idea.
"Shall we go look as well?" he said, at which Holo brightened.
"Mm. You seem to have gotten a bit cleverer," she said, taking his arm cheerily.
Lawrence had but a moment to chuckle at Holo's rare moment of misunderstanding before she began to drag him bodily out of the cottage. "H-hey!"
She refused listen to him and paid the redly burning hearth no mind, silently making for the front door. Holo only stopped when Lawrence found his vision blurred by the brightly shining snow.
"What do you make of the dried-out nun, eh?"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Huh?" That was all wrong—Holo was standing in front of the bookshelf, sniffing at the dusty books there.
So who was sitting in the chair?
Lawrence looked back again, and thanks to the sliver of light that made it through a crack in the wooden window, he realized that the figure in the chair was slightly taller than Holo, her hood was worn, and the hem of her robe was riddled with patches.
"I expect this is the 'witch' the villagers were on about," Holo said casually, returning a book to the shelf and then poking the figure in the head.
"H-hey!"
"What? It's fine. She's long since dried out. I thought Col might be frightened, but he's a stronger lad than I reckoned."
In places closed off by snow, it was not uncommon to encounter desiccated corpses from time to time. This led Lawrence to wonder if Col had been taken out on a mountain search.
"Still, to die gazing at a symbol of the Church...hard to imagine she was a witch."
"Col says she was a rather well-known person."
"Oh?"
The shelves in the room were all full of books and bundles of parchment. There was no mistaking it any longer.
After the nun came here on her eccentric journey, there was someone else who had come to adore her and was still coming to this place even after her death. Otherwise the books would not be so orderly, the cottage so clean and tidy.
Lawrence put his hands together lightly and offered a short prayer for the dead nun before turning his attention to the papers on the desk. They were dusty and aging, but the letters on them could still be made out. Evidently there had been an inquiry into her faith. It seemed that while she was alive her religious fervor had caused her to be viewed with suspicion, but she may very well have been a simple nun.
A single look at the wildflower arranged at the corner of the desk dismissed all worries of her being a witch.
"Still, you."
"Hmm?"
Holo was again looking intently at the contents of the bookshelf, and she pointed to one of the shelves in particular.
"Have a look at this."
"Where?"
Lawrence looked at the shelf, where there was a space just large enough for one missing volume.
"It must be somewhere else, right?"
"Fool. Have a look at the dust. It's different there than elsewhere."
No matter how thoroughly a room was cleaned, dust would settle in it. And when Lawrence looked closely at the gap, he saw that while there was indeed a thin layer of dust there, it was less than elsewhere.
"I don't know how long ago, but at some point someone took a single volume from here."
"So what are you saying?"
Holo gave the room another brief look and then regarded Lawrence suspiciously.
"You've figured it out, haven't you? Someone's been coming here."
She was referring to the onetime residence of the nun. Vino the villager had said no one would approach it. But as Holo had not called him out, there was no reason to believe he was lying. Which meant it had to be someone unrelated to the village. Or a villager of whose actions Vino was unaware.
And what book had been taken?
"That little fool knew of this place before we came here," said Holo finally, glaring at Lawrence. "Don't let your guard down," her eyes said.
"I know. But where did she say she was going with Col?"
"Hmm. She said she was going to have a look at the lake."
"The lake?"
"Don't ask me why. I've no idea."
Given her displeasure, Holo was probably irritated at Fran's ordering around of not only Lawrence, but Col as well. But then he hit upon an idea.
"Shall we go look as well?" he said, at which Holo brightened.
"Mm. You seem to have gotten a bit cleverer," she said, taking his arm cheerily.
Lawrence had but a moment to chuckle at Holo's rare moment of misunderstanding before she began to drag him bodily out of the cottage. "H-hey!"
She refused listen to him and paid the redly burning hearth no mind, silently making for the front door. Holo only stopped when Lawrence found his vision blurred by the brightly shining snow.
"What do you make of the dried-out nun, eh?"
| "I can't imagine the term witch is very apt, myself."
Holo did not know much about the Church or the faith of its adherents, but her impression seemed to be very clear. And yet Lawrence had gotten quite a strong impression from the single dried flower on the nun's desk, and he was similarly unable to see her as a witch.
"Nor do I. You saw the flower on her desk, right?" said Lawrence, but Holo did not seem to understand what he was getting at. Perhaps it didn't much matter to her one way or another if the woman had been a witch.
Holo tugged again on his arm as he thought on it. "I've seen human females of her like many times before. The word kindhearted may as well have been invented to describe them."
Come to think of it, Lawrence seemed to recall Holo saying something similar when they had first met. He nodded, and Holo slowly began to walk—her face downcast as usual.
"She was one of their like. Or so I suppose."
"Ah," said Lawrence, but instead of prompting her to go on, he simply took her hand.
"And, you know..."
"Hmm?"
Holo nodded and went on. "They say she led her wild dogs into the forest." She looked up with an unexpectedly hard expression. Something about it made Lawrence feel she was fighting to hold back tears. "But they may just as well have been wolves, eh? So tread lightly, you."
Lawrence's heart skipped a beat.
Holo let go of his arm and went skipping off ahead. Knowing full well there were no other people nearby, she let her tail slip free from beneath the hem of her robe. Its white tip was as beautiful as the white snow over which it danced, like a fairy's sash of light.
"Well, I must say I understand our dried-out nun's feelings." She clasped her hands behind her and then spun around to face Lawrence with her usual invincible, good-humored smile. White snow fell on mossy rocks with a background of an aquamarine waterfall. For a path supposedly taken by an angel ascending to the heavens, it certainly looked the part.
"Why's that?" Lawrence asked, taking her small, chilly hand and following her.
"We're both patient but overreact in equal measure to our stored-up frustration," said Holo with a self-reproachful smile.
Lawrence looked at a rock that was jutting so far out it seemed about to fall at any moment and replied, "Like jumping naked into the wagon bed of a traveling merchant?"
"Or heading south in search of a friend."
Lawrence wanted to reach his hand out to Holo's face but thought better of it. Ever since arriving in the snowy mountains, Holo had surely been thinking about it. What would she do after they arrived in Yoitsu? The remains of one possible choice lay back in that cottage and in the reaction of the surrounding villagers. He just could not get used to her lightly frolicsome mood.
Lawrence and Holo held hands and made their way slowly around the waterfall. It seemed as though they might walk without any particular goal, but Fran's and Col's footprints ran there, so Lawrence and Holo followed them.
It was as though they were looking for some kind of precedent, any kind—but to say it aloud would be far too sentimental. As the thought occurred to Lawrence, he looked at Holo, and she lifted her gaze from the footprints in front of them and met his. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing.
She had long since kicked such worries aside, though.
That was the right answer, but above all they would avoid regret this way.
Lawrence squeezed Holo's hand a bit tighter as the thought struck him.
"So, is the story that an angel passed this way true?"
The path that led to the lake wound around the side of the waterfall, and it seemed Fran and Col were up at its head.
Holo and Lawrence ran up the shortcut, and as they came suddenly face-to-face with the waterfall, Holo spoke. "If they were anything like you or Mr. Hugues, they might have been mistaken for an angel."
"Mmm...I did see a bird once on the island." Holo sniffed the air.
"How long would a scent even last?"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "I can't imagine the term witch is very apt, myself."
Holo did not know much about the Church or the faith of its adherents, but her impression seemed to be very clear. And yet Lawrence had gotten quite a strong impression from the single dried flower on the nun's desk, and he was similarly unable to see her as a witch.
"Nor do I. You saw the flower on her desk, right?" said Lawrence, but Holo did not seem to understand what he was getting at. Perhaps it didn't much matter to her one way or another if the woman had been a witch.
Holo tugged again on his arm as he thought on it. "I've seen human females of her like many times before. The word kindhearted may as well have been invented to describe them."
Come to think of it, Lawrence seemed to recall Holo saying something similar when they had first met. He nodded, and Holo slowly began to walk—her face downcast as usual.
"She was one of their like. Or so I suppose."
"Ah," said Lawrence, but instead of prompting her to go on, he simply took her hand.
"And, you know..."
"Hmm?"
Holo nodded and went on. "They say she led her wild dogs into the forest." She looked up with an unexpectedly hard expression. Something about it made Lawrence feel she was fighting to hold back tears. "But they may just as well have been wolves, eh? So tread lightly, you."
Lawrence's heart skipped a beat.
Holo let go of his arm and went skipping off ahead. Knowing full well there were no other people nearby, she let her tail slip free from beneath the hem of her robe. Its white tip was as beautiful as the white snow over which it danced, like a fairy's sash of light.
"Well, I must say I understand our dried-out nun's feelings." She clasped her hands behind her and then spun around to face Lawrence with her usual invincible, good-humored smile. White snow fell on mossy rocks with a background of an aquamarine waterfall. For a path supposedly taken by an angel ascending to the heavens, it certainly looked the part.
"Why's that?" Lawrence asked, taking her small, chilly hand and following her.
"We're both patient but overreact in equal measure to our stored-up frustration," said Holo with a self-reproachful smile.
Lawrence looked at a rock that was jutting so far out it seemed about to fall at any moment and replied, "Like jumping naked into the wagon bed of a traveling merchant?"
"Or heading south in search of a friend."
Lawrence wanted to reach his hand out to Holo's face but thought better of it. Ever since arriving in the snowy mountains, Holo had surely been thinking about it. What would she do after they arrived in Yoitsu? The remains of one possible choice lay back in that cottage and in the reaction of the surrounding villagers. He just could not get used to her lightly frolicsome mood.
Lawrence and Holo held hands and made their way slowly around the waterfall. It seemed as though they might walk without any particular goal, but Fran's and Col's footprints ran there, so Lawrence and Holo followed them.
It was as though they were looking for some kind of precedent, any kind—but to say it aloud would be far too sentimental. As the thought occurred to Lawrence, he looked at Holo, and she lifted her gaze from the footprints in front of them and met his. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing.
She had long since kicked such worries aside, though.
That was the right answer, but above all they would avoid regret this way.
Lawrence squeezed Holo's hand a bit tighter as the thought struck him.
"So, is the story that an angel passed this way true?"
The path that led to the lake wound around the side of the waterfall, and it seemed Fran and Col were up at its head.
Holo and Lawrence ran up the shortcut, and as they came suddenly face-to-face with the waterfall, Holo spoke. "If they were anything like you or Mr. Hugues, they might have been mistaken for an angel."
"Mmm...I did see a bird once on the island." Holo sniffed the air.
"How long would a scent even last?"
| The statement had a certain level of authority behind it, given that Holo had once led a pack that protected such a forest.
Holo seemed to notice Lawrence's concern and smiled a deliberately sharp-fanged smile. "It was probably just a drift of snow blown up into the air. You humans are cowards, but cowards invent the best monsters."
She sounded so amused as she said it that Lawrence wondered if she had personal experience. "Do you know of any?"
The path that zigzagged up the slope behind the waterfall was surprisingly well made. Since they were following Col and Fran, progress was comparatively easy to make.
"Plenty from back when I lived among the wheat. When night fell, youngsters would get up to mischief in the fields. I'd say there were ten kinds of wheat monsters, at least."
Lawrence felt bad for the mischief-making youngsters but suddenly understood where many eerie stories must have originated.
"Though sometimes they saw monsters that had nothing to do with my kind." Holo had a nostalgic look in her eye.
"For example?"
"The one I'm remembering now was a boy who tripped and fell in the mountains and thought the sound of his own crying as it echoed through the valley was the howl of a monster. So then he got even more scared and cried louder."
"Oh, like that. But...ah...I see."
"Hmm?"
The path wound left, then right, and before they knew it, they were making good progress up the steep slope. Whoever had come up with this way of constructing a trail was very clever. They had come a good distance but were still only halfway.
"I just remembered the story of a famous miracle whose trick was revealed."
"Oh ho." A large tree root formed a steep step, so Lawrence climbed it first and then held out a hand to pull Holo up.
"It has to do with the northern campaign. Every traveler knows the story." Just as Lawrence began to talk, he suddenly paused. "But it involves the Church, so don't tell Col."
Holo's blank expression shifted to a mischievous smile. "Fortunately there's nothing else between us that needs to be kept a secret."
Lawrence could only smile ruefully, and at Holo's urging, he continued his story. "A famous troupe of knights was participating in the campaign and was losing a fierce battle to pagan forces. As the sky grew red with approaching night, the knights' commander was about to order the retreat—when suddenly, a huge shadow covered the battlefield. The moment he looked up to see what it was, everyone there seemed to spot it. A huge, white Church crest drifting across the sky."
Lawrence looked up at the sky, which prompted Holo to do the same. She looked back down, her voice thoughtful. "Birds, weren't they?"
Always so clever. Lawrence nodded and continued, "That's right. A flock of birds migrating. But the knights took it as a sign that victory was assured and somehow, in the small amount of daylight left, managed to escape their poor position and win the day. The flag of the nation that was founded on that land has a red background with a white Church crest on it to commemorate that day. And thus had a miracle occurred. The end!"
So there was no small possibility that the angel legend had come from some sort of natural phenomenon. No doubt Fran had taken Col along to investigate just that possibility.
"Mm. But if so, how might one summon the angel again?"
They came around the last switchback and continued on to the top of the hill. Looking down, the waterfall's splash pool was strangely tiny.
"What a beautiful lake," said Holo in a bright voice, not the least bit winded.
The lake was like a mirror bordering the mountains, reflecting the gray clouds that threatened snow at any moment.
Unlike the riverbank below, there were many small rocks fringing the lake. The dusting of snow atop the small black rocks made for a lovely contrast.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The statement had a certain level of authority behind it, given that Holo had once led a pack that protected such a forest.
Holo seemed to notice Lawrence's concern and smiled a deliberately sharp-fanged smile. "It was probably just a drift of snow blown up into the air. You humans are cowards, but cowards invent the best monsters."
She sounded so amused as she said it that Lawrence wondered if she had personal experience. "Do you know of any?"
The path that zigzagged up the slope behind the waterfall was surprisingly well made. Since they were following Col and Fran, progress was comparatively easy to make.
"Plenty from back when I lived among the wheat. When night fell, youngsters would get up to mischief in the fields. I'd say there were ten kinds of wheat monsters, at least."
Lawrence felt bad for the mischief-making youngsters but suddenly understood where many eerie stories must have originated.
"Though sometimes they saw monsters that had nothing to do with my kind." Holo had a nostalgic look in her eye.
"For example?"
"The one I'm remembering now was a boy who tripped and fell in the mountains and thought the sound of his own crying as it echoed through the valley was the howl of a monster. So then he got even more scared and cried louder."
"Oh, like that. But...ah...I see."
"Hmm?"
The path wound left, then right, and before they knew it, they were making good progress up the steep slope. Whoever had come up with this way of constructing a trail was very clever. They had come a good distance but were still only halfway.
"I just remembered the story of a famous miracle whose trick was revealed."
"Oh ho." A large tree root formed a steep step, so Lawrence climbed it first and then held out a hand to pull Holo up.
"It has to do with the northern campaign. Every traveler knows the story." Just as Lawrence began to talk, he suddenly paused. "But it involves the Church, so don't tell Col."
Holo's blank expression shifted to a mischievous smile. "Fortunately there's nothing else between us that needs to be kept a secret."
Lawrence could only smile ruefully, and at Holo's urging, he continued his story. "A famous troupe of knights was participating in the campaign and was losing a fierce battle to pagan forces. As the sky grew red with approaching night, the knights' commander was about to order the retreat—when suddenly, a huge shadow covered the battlefield. The moment he looked up to see what it was, everyone there seemed to spot it. A huge, white Church crest drifting across the sky."
Lawrence looked up at the sky, which prompted Holo to do the same. She looked back down, her voice thoughtful. "Birds, weren't they?"
Always so clever. Lawrence nodded and continued, "That's right. A flock of birds migrating. But the knights took it as a sign that victory was assured and somehow, in the small amount of daylight left, managed to escape their poor position and win the day. The flag of the nation that was founded on that land has a red background with a white Church crest on it to commemorate that day. And thus had a miracle occurred. The end!"
So there was no small possibility that the angel legend had come from some sort of natural phenomenon. No doubt Fran had taken Col along to investigate just that possibility.
"Mm. But if so, how might one summon the angel again?"
They came around the last switchback and continued on to the top of the hill. Looking down, the waterfall's splash pool was strangely tiny.
"What a beautiful lake," said Holo in a bright voice, not the least bit winded.
The lake was like a mirror bordering the mountains, reflecting the gray clouds that threatened snow at any moment.
Unlike the riverbank below, there were many small rocks fringing the lake. The dusting of snow atop the small black rocks made for a lovely contrast.
| "I'd rather come in summertime," said Holo, and Lawrence could understand why.
"Can you swim?" Lawrence asked.
"Aye. 'Tis a lovely feeling, having most of one's weight borne by the water."
Lawrence could not help but smile at the thought of a wolf so huge it could eat a human in a single bite jumping into a lake and swimming about like a dog. "But if you jumped into the lake in that huge body of yours, all the water would overflow."
In reality, it was the water from the waterfall that caused the lake to overflow. Lawrence had meant it as a little joke, but Holo fell silent, her expression serious.
"But if I were to jump in with this body, then you'd be the one to overflow."
She was like a boomerang. Lawrence ignored her; she replied with a deep breath, which she then exhaled.
Taking a walk around such a beautiful lakefront was quite a luxury for a busy traveling merchant. "I suppose Col and Fran must have gone quite a ways."
Their footprints seemed to go all the way around to the foggy opposite shore that lay at the foot of a tall mountain, its peak entirely obscured by clouds.
"Mm," Holo muttered noncommittally, looking at the waterfall to which they had walked.
"Is something the matter?"
"Mm. This waterfall may be quite new."
"Huh?" Lawrence said, and Holo nodded after taking another glance around their surroundings.
"I suppose you humans wouldn't exactly call it recent, but look, there. Does it not look as though that cliff collapsed?" Holo said, pointing at the base of the mountain by the waterfall. "The rocks or whatever fell from there piled up to create the waterfall spot. The lake was originally bowl shaped and surrounded by mountains like so." She made a circle with her arms, perfectly demonstrating what she meant.
It did seem like the sort of thing that Holo, who had lived for centuries, was likely to know.
"But if the river level dropped, that means..."
"That's why. You can't fill a chipped bowl past the edge of its chip. If the water rises, it will drain down to that level."
Now that she pointed it out, Lawrence saw that there was a sharp rock at the top of the waterfall that divided its flow in two, and it looked as though it had been somehow stuck there after the fact.
Perhaps someone had seen the moment of that landslide and mistaken it for the angel's ascension. Lawrence thought about it and decided it was unlikely. It was hard, after all, to mistake falling rocks for an angel's wings.
"Or perhaps the angel made a foothold so that it could leap up into the heavens from it," said Lawrence a bit affectedly, at which Holo made a face and pulled away.
"You truly are a dreamer," she said, heaving a great sigh.
They prepared dinner and waited, and when Col and Fran finally returned, they were soaking wet, as though they had played around in the snow all day. Their bodies had stayed warm beneath their coats, but their arms and legs were like sticks of ice.
Holo reluctantly covered Fran's hands with her own and placed her feet against Fran's feet because the best way to warm someone up was with another body. Lawrence stuck Col's hands underneath his own coat and warmed the boy's feet up with his own hands.
"So, did you find anything?"
Col's fine, layered leather boots had soaked up so much water they were like lead. Wherever they had gone must have had thick snow, so they would have needed good reason to be there, Lawrence reasoned—but Fran shook her head. She looked a bit sad as she did so, perhaps out of exhaustion.
"Well, once you're settled in, we'll have dinner."
At these words, Col nodded. Lawrence looked at him and saw him begin to nod off now that he was suddenly in a much warmer place.
Lawrence removed Col's wet coat and replaced it with a dry blanket, wrapping it around Col's arms. He was a bit smaller than Holo, so it was easily managed. He smelled faintly musty. Perhaps after having spent so much time around Holo, he was beginning to take on a hint of her scent.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "I'd rather come in summertime," said Holo, and Lawrence could understand why.
"Can you swim?" Lawrence asked.
"Aye. 'Tis a lovely feeling, having most of one's weight borne by the water."
Lawrence could not help but smile at the thought of a wolf so huge it could eat a human in a single bite jumping into a lake and swimming about like a dog. "But if you jumped into the lake in that huge body of yours, all the water would overflow."
In reality, it was the water from the waterfall that caused the lake to overflow. Lawrence had meant it as a little joke, but Holo fell silent, her expression serious.
"But if I were to jump in with this body, then you'd be the one to overflow."
She was like a boomerang. Lawrence ignored her; she replied with a deep breath, which she then exhaled.
Taking a walk around such a beautiful lakefront was quite a luxury for a busy traveling merchant. "I suppose Col and Fran must have gone quite a ways."
Their footprints seemed to go all the way around to the foggy opposite shore that lay at the foot of a tall mountain, its peak entirely obscured by clouds.
"Mm," Holo muttered noncommittally, looking at the waterfall to which they had walked.
"Is something the matter?"
"Mm. This waterfall may be quite new."
"Huh?" Lawrence said, and Holo nodded after taking another glance around their surroundings.
"I suppose you humans wouldn't exactly call it recent, but look, there. Does it not look as though that cliff collapsed?" Holo said, pointing at the base of the mountain by the waterfall. "The rocks or whatever fell from there piled up to create the waterfall spot. The lake was originally bowl shaped and surrounded by mountains like so." She made a circle with her arms, perfectly demonstrating what she meant.
It did seem like the sort of thing that Holo, who had lived for centuries, was likely to know.
"But if the river level dropped, that means..."
"That's why. You can't fill a chipped bowl past the edge of its chip. If the water rises, it will drain down to that level."
Now that she pointed it out, Lawrence saw that there was a sharp rock at the top of the waterfall that divided its flow in two, and it looked as though it had been somehow stuck there after the fact.
Perhaps someone had seen the moment of that landslide and mistaken it for the angel's ascension. Lawrence thought about it and decided it was unlikely. It was hard, after all, to mistake falling rocks for an angel's wings.
"Or perhaps the angel made a foothold so that it could leap up into the heavens from it," said Lawrence a bit affectedly, at which Holo made a face and pulled away.
"You truly are a dreamer," she said, heaving a great sigh.
They prepared dinner and waited, and when Col and Fran finally returned, they were soaking wet, as though they had played around in the snow all day. Their bodies had stayed warm beneath their coats, but their arms and legs were like sticks of ice.
Holo reluctantly covered Fran's hands with her own and placed her feet against Fran's feet because the best way to warm someone up was with another body. Lawrence stuck Col's hands underneath his own coat and warmed the boy's feet up with his own hands.
"So, did you find anything?"
Col's fine, layered leather boots had soaked up so much water they were like lead. Wherever they had gone must have had thick snow, so they would have needed good reason to be there, Lawrence reasoned—but Fran shook her head. She looked a bit sad as she did so, perhaps out of exhaustion.
"Well, once you're settled in, we'll have dinner."
At these words, Col nodded. Lawrence looked at him and saw him begin to nod off now that he was suddenly in a much warmer place.
Lawrence removed Col's wet coat and replaced it with a dry blanket, wrapping it around Col's arms. He was a bit smaller than Holo, so it was easily managed. He smelled faintly musty. Perhaps after having spent so much time around Holo, he was beginning to take on a hint of her scent.
| "You have a fine traveling companion," she said as she accepted a bowlful of the pot's contents.
When Lawrence realized she was talking about Col, he smiled. "He's been a great help to us. Though it seems he was a bit short on stamina today."
Col looked frail and thin, but he had been perfectly fine managing winter travel with thin, meager clothing, and his endurance was at least equal to Lawrence's, perhaps better. If they had walked around enough to tire him out so thoroughly, then it might be that Fran was the exceptional one.
"Not at all...," said Fran, sipping the soup. Even when eating, she seemed to have a certain aura about her.
Anyone who came inside after wandering around in the cold all day would have a moment of unguarded relief—but not Fran. Her alertness reminded Lawrence of some forest animal.
"By the way, we did some thinking about the legend of the angel," said Lawrence as he filled Holo's bowl with meat, at which Fran's hand froze. "Have you ever seen the flag of the Torhildt Republic?"
Fran's eyes were fixed intently on Lawrence. She had taken the bait more thoroughly than he had anticipated.
"...Have you knowledge of the story?"
"Some." The ember of her interest, so bright before, seemed to have gone out. Fran did not elaborate and sipped her soup as though deliberately regaining her composure. She cut the contents of the bowl up with her wooden spoon and then ate them, carefully scooping the last bite up and bringing it to her mouth.
Her every movement was smooth and efficient, and she ate rather quickly.
The higher in status one rose, the slower one tended to take one's meals—and so went the opposite. Col was a perfect example, being a traveling scholar whose eating was mostly indistinguishable from that of a thief or beggar.
According to Hugues, Fran had identified herself as a former slave. Perhaps that was true, Lawrence mused.
"I suppose I also think it was a bit of snow or something being blown up on the wind," she said. The same thing Vino the villager said. Going by boring common sense, it was the most reasonable response.
"Or maybe the real thing."
Fran revealed a surprisingly honest smile at Lawrence's joke. "That would certainly be the best answer. However..."
"...I understand you've investigated too many legends to truly believe that."
Fran's eyes closed and her smile vanished. Her slow breathing made it seem as though she were trying to control her anger, but Lawrence felt it was just the opposite. She was trying to keep herself from laughing.
Her slow breathing stopped, and she exhaled. Her expression was soft, just as Lawrence had expected. "That's right. Most were shams. A few were from people who mistook what they saw and jumped to conclusions. And still fewer were truly special, truly real, as though something genuinely extraordinary had happened there."
"And which do you suppose this is?" Lawrence asked, at which Fran shook her head. It seemed like she was both giving her answer and admitting that she did not know.
But Fran's gaze went into the distance and suddenly she spoke. "I originally heard the angel legend from a dear friend."
Lawrence was surprised. He had not expected Fran to talk about such a thing. Fran herself seemed to understand this. She glanced at him, embarrassed, a slight bashfulness playing about the corners of her mouth.
"They admitted they could not remember where they'd seen it. But what they told me about was largely the same as this legend."
Eyes that looked into the past were always sad. In front of the flickering light of the hearth, this was doubly true.
"They exaggerate, but they don't lie. And after so many years..."
"You think you've finally found out."
Fran nodded and relaxed her sitting posture a bit. It seemed to Lawrence that she had finally taken down some of the barriers she had built. He offered her some wine.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "You have a fine traveling companion," she said as she accepted a bowlful of the pot's contents.
When Lawrence realized she was talking about Col, he smiled. "He's been a great help to us. Though it seems he was a bit short on stamina today."
Col looked frail and thin, but he had been perfectly fine managing winter travel with thin, meager clothing, and his endurance was at least equal to Lawrence's, perhaps better. If they had walked around enough to tire him out so thoroughly, then it might be that Fran was the exceptional one.
"Not at all...," said Fran, sipping the soup. Even when eating, she seemed to have a certain aura about her.
Anyone who came inside after wandering around in the cold all day would have a moment of unguarded relief—but not Fran. Her alertness reminded Lawrence of some forest animal.
"By the way, we did some thinking about the legend of the angel," said Lawrence as he filled Holo's bowl with meat, at which Fran's hand froze. "Have you ever seen the flag of the Torhildt Republic?"
Fran's eyes were fixed intently on Lawrence. She had taken the bait more thoroughly than he had anticipated.
"...Have you knowledge of the story?"
"Some." The ember of her interest, so bright before, seemed to have gone out. Fran did not elaborate and sipped her soup as though deliberately regaining her composure. She cut the contents of the bowl up with her wooden spoon and then ate them, carefully scooping the last bite up and bringing it to her mouth.
Her every movement was smooth and efficient, and she ate rather quickly.
The higher in status one rose, the slower one tended to take one's meals—and so went the opposite. Col was a perfect example, being a traveling scholar whose eating was mostly indistinguishable from that of a thief or beggar.
According to Hugues, Fran had identified herself as a former slave. Perhaps that was true, Lawrence mused.
"I suppose I also think it was a bit of snow or something being blown up on the wind," she said. The same thing Vino the villager said. Going by boring common sense, it was the most reasonable response.
"Or maybe the real thing."
Fran revealed a surprisingly honest smile at Lawrence's joke. "That would certainly be the best answer. However..."
"...I understand you've investigated too many legends to truly believe that."
Fran's eyes closed and her smile vanished. Her slow breathing made it seem as though she were trying to control her anger, but Lawrence felt it was just the opposite. She was trying to keep herself from laughing.
Her slow breathing stopped, and she exhaled. Her expression was soft, just as Lawrence had expected. "That's right. Most were shams. A few were from people who mistook what they saw and jumped to conclusions. And still fewer were truly special, truly real, as though something genuinely extraordinary had happened there."
"And which do you suppose this is?" Lawrence asked, at which Fran shook her head. It seemed like she was both giving her answer and admitting that she did not know.
But Fran's gaze went into the distance and suddenly she spoke. "I originally heard the angel legend from a dear friend."
Lawrence was surprised. He had not expected Fran to talk about such a thing. Fran herself seemed to understand this. She glanced at him, embarrassed, a slight bashfulness playing about the corners of her mouth.
"They admitted they could not remember where they'd seen it. But what they told me about was largely the same as this legend."
Eyes that looked into the past were always sad. In front of the flickering light of the hearth, this was doubly true.
"They exaggerate, but they don't lie. And after so many years..."
"You think you've finally found out."
Fran nodded and relaxed her sitting posture a bit. It seemed to Lawrence that she had finally taken down some of the barriers she had built. He offered her some wine.
| Her faith had caused her to be driven from towns and villages and to be dubbed a witch. It was hard to imagine someone with such deep faith, no matter how eccentric she might be, following a truly phony legend. Such legends and stories were countless. Only a truly special occurrence would remain in minds and capture hearts the way this one had.
"I do believe my friend saw it as well. Something that could be called a miracle..." Her eyes were slightly downcast, a sad smile on her face that was not merely a trick of the hearth's flickering shadows. "But it is to laugh...to see such a thing and not remember where you saw it."
Her smile was an almost exasperated one.
Any man would find himself faintly jealous seeing such a smile. Lawrence wondered if she was fond of the person she was talking about. Her use of the word friend felt like an attempt to hide her embarrassment.
But with this, it seemed as though Fran's desire to discover the truth behind the legend was not merely out of passion as a silversmith. She had another reason in her heart, and that was what had driven her to come all this way.
In any case, Fran's smile was full of shadows.
"Ah, I shouldn't," said Fran, putting her wine cup down. She had not drunk much, but perhaps she lacked much tolerance for drink. Or perhaps she was more worried about the temptation to let it loosen her tongue so that she would spill the contents of her heart.
Silence fell.
Lawrence could not help but ask, "Why would you tell me this?"
Her reply was quick. "As an apology."
"An apology?" Lawrence echoed, hearing a derisive sniff from behind him.
He looked and saw Holo glaring at Fran with suspicious eyes.
"Back at the trading company..."
Had something happened that required an apology? Was she talking about her utter intractability? Even so, an apology would be strange, so Lawrence just sat there stupidly as Fran looked into her reflection in the wine cup on the floor and continued.
"I could have spoken with you differently. I thought you were merely another greedy merchant."
"No, that's quite all right..."
"I thought you only wanted a map of the north so you could profit from it." Fran looked up and smiled apologetically.
Lawrence had told her the previous night that he wanted the map in order to help Holo. So what reason did she have for apologizing? She was apologizing not for her response, but rather the manner of her response. What a strange notion.
Lawrence remained at a loss, and it was finally Holo who spoke up. "So what was it that changed your mind, eh?" Her tone was still a bit harsh, but she seemed amused, too. Looking at her face, Lawrence saw that she seemed in better spirits and wore a faint smile.
Fran drew back deliberately at the question and regarded Holo silently. For a while, the two girls seemed to have a conversation entirely with their eyes.
"Now that we've come this far, you wish our help, perhaps?"
Fran nodded slowly.
Lawrence still had no idea what they were talking about, but at the familiar sound of the word help, he started to see where this was going. But before he could interject, Holo spoke.
"Aye, fine then." The haste with which Holo agreed reminded him of his own failure at the Hugues Company. Lawrence could not help but open his mouth to speak, but then Holo slapped his back. "We're asking for your help as well, so 'tis hardly the time for holding grudges."
Her exasperated smile had a strangely good humor to it.
Across the hearth, Fran seemed happy.
Lawrence did not really understand why, but it seemed best to leave things as they were. He nodded.
"Well, then," murmured Fran, her dark eyes shining with intelligence. "Did you notice anything strange when we arrived in Taussig?"
"As a merchant?"
"Yes."
Lawrence nodded. "They were grinding flour by hand...even though there's such a high waterfall so close by."
Fran gave Lawrence a long, hard look. He had been right.
Lawrence continued.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Her faith had caused her to be driven from towns and villages and to be dubbed a witch. It was hard to imagine someone with such deep faith, no matter how eccentric she might be, following a truly phony legend. Such legends and stories were countless. Only a truly special occurrence would remain in minds and capture hearts the way this one had.
"I do believe my friend saw it as well. Something that could be called a miracle..." Her eyes were slightly downcast, a sad smile on her face that was not merely a trick of the hearth's flickering shadows. "But it is to laugh...to see such a thing and not remember where you saw it."
Her smile was an almost exasperated one.
Any man would find himself faintly jealous seeing such a smile. Lawrence wondered if she was fond of the person she was talking about. Her use of the word friend felt like an attempt to hide her embarrassment.
But with this, it seemed as though Fran's desire to discover the truth behind the legend was not merely out of passion as a silversmith. She had another reason in her heart, and that was what had driven her to come all this way.
In any case, Fran's smile was full of shadows.
"Ah, I shouldn't," said Fran, putting her wine cup down. She had not drunk much, but perhaps she lacked much tolerance for drink. Or perhaps she was more worried about the temptation to let it loosen her tongue so that she would spill the contents of her heart.
Silence fell.
Lawrence could not help but ask, "Why would you tell me this?"
Her reply was quick. "As an apology."
"An apology?" Lawrence echoed, hearing a derisive sniff from behind him.
He looked and saw Holo glaring at Fran with suspicious eyes.
"Back at the trading company..."
Had something happened that required an apology? Was she talking about her utter intractability? Even so, an apology would be strange, so Lawrence just sat there stupidly as Fran looked into her reflection in the wine cup on the floor and continued.
"I could have spoken with you differently. I thought you were merely another greedy merchant."
"No, that's quite all right..."
"I thought you only wanted a map of the north so you could profit from it." Fran looked up and smiled apologetically.
Lawrence had told her the previous night that he wanted the map in order to help Holo. So what reason did she have for apologizing? She was apologizing not for her response, but rather the manner of her response. What a strange notion.
Lawrence remained at a loss, and it was finally Holo who spoke up. "So what was it that changed your mind, eh?" Her tone was still a bit harsh, but she seemed amused, too. Looking at her face, Lawrence saw that she seemed in better spirits and wore a faint smile.
Fran drew back deliberately at the question and regarded Holo silently. For a while, the two girls seemed to have a conversation entirely with their eyes.
"Now that we've come this far, you wish our help, perhaps?"
Fran nodded slowly.
Lawrence still had no idea what they were talking about, but at the familiar sound of the word help, he started to see where this was going. But before he could interject, Holo spoke.
"Aye, fine then." The haste with which Holo agreed reminded him of his own failure at the Hugues Company. Lawrence could not help but open his mouth to speak, but then Holo slapped his back. "We're asking for your help as well, so 'tis hardly the time for holding grudges."
Her exasperated smile had a strangely good humor to it.
Across the hearth, Fran seemed happy.
Lawrence did not really understand why, but it seemed best to leave things as they were. He nodded.
"Well, then," murmured Fran, her dark eyes shining with intelligence. "Did you notice anything strange when we arrived in Taussig?"
"As a merchant?"
"Yes."
Lawrence nodded. "They were grinding flour by hand...even though there's such a high waterfall so close by."
Fran gave Lawrence a long, hard look. He had been right.
Lawrence continued.
| "Or if the villagers themselves resisted the idea. And the answer is indeed the latter." As she spoke, Fran reached into her things and produced a dusty, old book.
It was more a stack of papers than a book so unmatched and disorganized were the parchments and letters that comprised it. Even a brief glance made it clear that it was very old. The pages rustled weakly as she flipped through them.
"The village originally used the legend of the angel as a reason not to build a water mill," she said matter-of-factly.
"That's..."
"If a mill were built, it would be for extracting more labor from the villagers—they would have been made to construct the very tool that would choke them. Meanwhile, the northern campaigns were reaching their peak, the landlord, wanting to borrow the Church's might, took the profit of using the legend of the angel to flatter the Church over the profit of the increased output of a water mill."
It was often the case that a landlord would lack sufficient military or financial power to protect his own holdings. Fran went on.
"But as times changed, the pagans grew stronger. I assume you know that the northern campaign has been canceled."
Lawrence nodded. "In other words," he said, "with the recent decline of Church power, things can turn bad if the landlord gets a whiff of their involvement."
"Yes. In the past, money was made in providing the northern campaign with supplies, but...lacking shame or concern, and any sort of fear of God, the attitude has changed completely. As you might imagine, in an area like this with so many pagan landlords, it can be dangerous to appease the Church while its power is on the decline. So far their reaction has gone well."
If you can't beat them, join them. It was hardly a bad strategy for a long life. However, sometimes it would only make you look like a coward.
"After much worrying, the landlord hit upon an idea. Claim the devout nun who came all the way out here chasing the angel legend was a witch."
Lawrence drew in breath, but he was the only one. Holo's expression did not so much as twitch. She knew in her bones just how selfish humans could be.
"By claiming a witch had come and was causing trouble, he wouldn't have to defy the Church, but could save face with the villagers. And for the villagers themselves it was awfully convenient; since they didn't want to build a water mill, a witch in the forest gave them the perfect excuse not to enter it. A mill would mean increased taxation, which would instantly make their lives much harder."
This also explained why they treated salt as such a precious substance. But there was still something Lawrence did not understand.
"Miss Fran...where did you learn all of this?"
In response to his question, Fran casually held up the book. On its opened pages, Lawrence could see writing in a neat, masculine hand.
"It's all written right here. This is the diary of Katerina Lucci, the nun laid to rest in the next room."
A single book had been missing from the shelf. This book.
"I expect one of the villagers had an attack of conscience and wanted to let the world know the truth. It's a total coincidence that it should end up in my hands. An acquaintance of mine who handles such things just happened to mention it."
She flipped through the pages, her eyes glancing over them. She was not reading the pages, instead perhaps trying to guess at the thoughts of the woman who had written them.
"But if that's true...why would you tell us? I mean, to begin with..." Lawrence trailed off.
If she knew so much about the landlord, then Fran's reason for bringing Lawrence along was not simply to help her learn about the angel legend.
Lawrence looked at Fran dubiously. She had been planning to set them up all along.
He felt like the corners of her eyes crinkled just a bit in a mischievous smile. "It won't be long before the bells ring and the Church arrives."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Or if the villagers themselves resisted the idea. And the answer is indeed the latter." As she spoke, Fran reached into her things and produced a dusty, old book.
It was more a stack of papers than a book so unmatched and disorganized were the parchments and letters that comprised it. Even a brief glance made it clear that it was very old. The pages rustled weakly as she flipped through them.
"The village originally used the legend of the angel as a reason not to build a water mill," she said matter-of-factly.
"That's..."
"If a mill were built, it would be for extracting more labor from the villagers—they would have been made to construct the very tool that would choke them. Meanwhile, the northern campaigns were reaching their peak, the landlord, wanting to borrow the Church's might, took the profit of using the legend of the angel to flatter the Church over the profit of the increased output of a water mill."
It was often the case that a landlord would lack sufficient military or financial power to protect his own holdings. Fran went on.
"But as times changed, the pagans grew stronger. I assume you know that the northern campaign has been canceled."
Lawrence nodded. "In other words," he said, "with the recent decline of Church power, things can turn bad if the landlord gets a whiff of their involvement."
"Yes. In the past, money was made in providing the northern campaign with supplies, but...lacking shame or concern, and any sort of fear of God, the attitude has changed completely. As you might imagine, in an area like this with so many pagan landlords, it can be dangerous to appease the Church while its power is on the decline. So far their reaction has gone well."
If you can't beat them, join them. It was hardly a bad strategy for a long life. However, sometimes it would only make you look like a coward.
"After much worrying, the landlord hit upon an idea. Claim the devout nun who came all the way out here chasing the angel legend was a witch."
Lawrence drew in breath, but he was the only one. Holo's expression did not so much as twitch. She knew in her bones just how selfish humans could be.
"By claiming a witch had come and was causing trouble, he wouldn't have to defy the Church, but could save face with the villagers. And for the villagers themselves it was awfully convenient; since they didn't want to build a water mill, a witch in the forest gave them the perfect excuse not to enter it. A mill would mean increased taxation, which would instantly make their lives much harder."
This also explained why they treated salt as such a precious substance. But there was still something Lawrence did not understand.
"Miss Fran...where did you learn all of this?"
In response to his question, Fran casually held up the book. On its opened pages, Lawrence could see writing in a neat, masculine hand.
"It's all written right here. This is the diary of Katerina Lucci, the nun laid to rest in the next room."
A single book had been missing from the shelf. This book.
"I expect one of the villagers had an attack of conscience and wanted to let the world know the truth. It's a total coincidence that it should end up in my hands. An acquaintance of mine who handles such things just happened to mention it."
She flipped through the pages, her eyes glancing over them. She was not reading the pages, instead perhaps trying to guess at the thoughts of the woman who had written them.
"But if that's true...why would you tell us? I mean, to begin with..." Lawrence trailed off.
If she knew so much about the landlord, then Fran's reason for bringing Lawrence along was not simply to help her learn about the angel legend.
Lawrence looked at Fran dubiously. She had been planning to set them up all along.
He felt like the corners of her eyes crinkled just a bit in a mischievous smile. "It won't be long before the bells ring and the Church arrives."
| "So it's the Debau Company, eh?"
Fran's eyes widened in surprise, and she nodded. "So you're familiar. As you've guessed, if the Church comes again, the claim that there's a witch in their domain won't work. So this is an extremely dangerous place."
That much was certainly true.
If the Church came into a volatile situation like this, it would be difficult for Fran to handle it alone, no matter how perversely stubborn she might be.
Fran regarded Lawrence. "The villagers and landlord alike are probably terrified that an investigation into the witch rumors would be a precursor to another round of Church attacks on the north," she said.
"So what we need to do is act such that we calm those fears."
Perhaps something about the way Lawrence spoke was amusing to her, for Fran displayed a quiet smile. But there was a disparity between her smile and the words she spoke next. "On our way back around the lakeside, there was someone observing this place."
This was why Fran had been willing to compromise.
It was such an obvious reason that Lawrence wanted to sigh. But he swallowed it back; it did not often happen that he got what he wanted taking the easy path.
"Naturally I'm not asking you to stay here with me from here on. Just until the snow melts will be fine. I expect the legend of the angel only applies in wintertime."
"And then you'll draw us a map of the north?"
Fran nodded. "So you'll help me, then?"
If they failed to pack their things and leave immediately, they would lose what little room to maneuver they had. But Fran had let them in on the secret, then asked for help.
It was a cunning move. Like a battlefield general.
He needed that map of the north, and there was Hugues to consider. Knowing the situation, Lawrence could not very well leave Fran on her own here.
Time-wise it would be a hardship to wait for spring, but depending on how circumstances changed, he might have another chance to negotiate. Holo did not move, so the answer was clear.
"Of course," said Lawrence shortly.
***
The next day of their stay, Fran again took Col with her and made for the lake.
Lawrence worried that if someone was watching them, it would be unsafe to leave the cottage, but Fran dismissed this, saying, "It's no different than if we were in the cottage." If anything, she said, it was safer, since it would reinforce the idea that they had come not to investigate the witch, but the angel legend.
Logically speaking, that was true enough, yet Lawrence was about to insist that it was still too dangerous—and oddly enough, it was Holo who restrained him. Moreover, she then suggested that Fran take Col with her.
Col readily agreed, of course, since he also felt that Fran should not go alone, which Lawrence found strange.
This was a complete change from Holo's previous state of finding everything Fran said irritating. Had their conversation with Fran last night changed her view so much?
What had become clear the previous night was that Fran had planned to take advantage of them all along when she brought them here, which ought to have worsened their impression of her—and certainly wouldn't improve it.
When Lawrence came back from seeing Col and Fran off, he found Holo slowly and deliberately grooming her tail.
Lawrence watched her and decided to try a mildly probing statement.
"I imagine she was thinking only of the legend last night, eh?"
After finger combing the whole of her tail, she began to pluck individual pests off and toss them into the hearth. She gave Lawrence only a desultory ear's worth of attention.
"Mm?"
"She said as much to Col, didn't she? 'Let's not miss any hints of the legend,' she said."
"Ah, mm."
Fran, too, seemed to have concluded that the angel had to have been some sort of natural phenomenon and had listed all sorts of possibilities to Col—from accumulated snow blowing off a tree branch to water from a hot spring flowing into the lake and causing steam to rise in a wing-shaped pattern.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "So it's the Debau Company, eh?"
Fran's eyes widened in surprise, and she nodded. "So you're familiar. As you've guessed, if the Church comes again, the claim that there's a witch in their domain won't work. So this is an extremely dangerous place."
That much was certainly true.
If the Church came into a volatile situation like this, it would be difficult for Fran to handle it alone, no matter how perversely stubborn she might be.
Fran regarded Lawrence. "The villagers and landlord alike are probably terrified that an investigation into the witch rumors would be a precursor to another round of Church attacks on the north," she said.
"So what we need to do is act such that we calm those fears."
Perhaps something about the way Lawrence spoke was amusing to her, for Fran displayed a quiet smile. But there was a disparity between her smile and the words she spoke next. "On our way back around the lakeside, there was someone observing this place."
This was why Fran had been willing to compromise.
It was such an obvious reason that Lawrence wanted to sigh. But he swallowed it back; it did not often happen that he got what he wanted taking the easy path.
"Naturally I'm not asking you to stay here with me from here on. Just until the snow melts will be fine. I expect the legend of the angel only applies in wintertime."
"And then you'll draw us a map of the north?"
Fran nodded. "So you'll help me, then?"
If they failed to pack their things and leave immediately, they would lose what little room to maneuver they had. But Fran had let them in on the secret, then asked for help.
It was a cunning move. Like a battlefield general.
He needed that map of the north, and there was Hugues to consider. Knowing the situation, Lawrence could not very well leave Fran on her own here.
Time-wise it would be a hardship to wait for spring, but depending on how circumstances changed, he might have another chance to negotiate. Holo did not move, so the answer was clear.
"Of course," said Lawrence shortly.
***
The next day of their stay, Fran again took Col with her and made for the lake.
Lawrence worried that if someone was watching them, it would be unsafe to leave the cottage, but Fran dismissed this, saying, "It's no different than if we were in the cottage." If anything, she said, it was safer, since it would reinforce the idea that they had come not to investigate the witch, but the angel legend.
Logically speaking, that was true enough, yet Lawrence was about to insist that it was still too dangerous—and oddly enough, it was Holo who restrained him. Moreover, she then suggested that Fran take Col with her.
Col readily agreed, of course, since he also felt that Fran should not go alone, which Lawrence found strange.
This was a complete change from Holo's previous state of finding everything Fran said irritating. Had their conversation with Fran last night changed her view so much?
What had become clear the previous night was that Fran had planned to take advantage of them all along when she brought them here, which ought to have worsened their impression of her—and certainly wouldn't improve it.
When Lawrence came back from seeing Col and Fran off, he found Holo slowly and deliberately grooming her tail.
Lawrence watched her and decided to try a mildly probing statement.
"I imagine she was thinking only of the legend last night, eh?"
After finger combing the whole of her tail, she began to pluck individual pests off and toss them into the hearth. She gave Lawrence only a desultory ear's worth of attention.
"Mm?"
"She said as much to Col, didn't she? 'Let's not miss any hints of the legend,' she said."
"Ah, mm."
Fran, too, seemed to have concluded that the angel had to have been some sort of natural phenomenon and had listed all sorts of possibilities to Col—from accumulated snow blowing off a tree branch to water from a hot spring flowing into the lake and causing steam to rise in a wing-shaped pattern.
| If falling, then the top of the waterfall, with the great difference from top to bottom, seemed the likelier candidate. If rising, then either steam, mist, or billowing snow was not difficult to imagine.
His assistance requested, Col had listened intently to each possibility in turn, nodding as though promising not to miss a single detail as he headed out with Fran.
"It's true that so long as she seems so serious, neither the villagers nor the landlord can very well come out and quibble with her," said Lawrence.
He expected Holo to come back with a complaint about Fran being perfectly willing to order her around, but evidently she was not in the mood.
If anything, Holo seemed pleased as she spoke. "'Tis rather absurd for her to have such a reputation as a perverse, stubborn silversmith."
"...Oh?'
Fran was entirely unlike what he had imagined when he first heard of her, but she was the very image of a serious artisan. She had probably been up thinking about her plans all night and had gone out immediately upon the arrival of morning, without any concern for the danger.
Lawrence said as much to Holo, but she only chewed at the roots of her tail fur, flashing a sharp smile when it was properly fluffy. "I expect she's simply chasing after whoever it is she's in love with. That strikes me as neither perverse nor particularly stubborn."
Holo was talking about the person Fran had mentioned the previous night—the one who had first told her the legend of the angel. Whether or not it was true romance or simply unrequited love on Fran's part, Holo and Lawrence seemed to be of a mind on the subject.
And to put it as flatly as Holo did, it was true that perversely stubborn was not, perhaps, the right term. In Fran's position, girls the world over could more accurately be described as "single-minded."
"'Tis rather charming, is it not?"
"I suppose." Lawrence very much doubted that Fran had been lying the previous night. Given that, she started to seem to him like a maiden who goes on pilgrimage to pray for her love, who's gone off to war.
And yet Lawrence still did not understand something. Why had her confession taken the form of an apology for her poor treatment of him at the trading company, and why had Holo's disposition toward Fran improved so much despite the knowledge that she had set out to trap them from the beginning?
He idly poked at the fire in the hearth as he turned the matter over in his mind. It was then that Holo spoke up.
"And to use an apology to deliver such a story. Rather clever of her, was it not?" A large spark flew up into the air—mostly coincidentally—but it looked as though it had jumped in reaction to his own fluster, which was also true.
Lawrence directed his gaze from the hearth to Holo, who was grinning widely, though it was a stiff, unnatural smile.
"Of course, you do know why it was so clever, don't you?"
Lawrence realized it was the height of presumption to think he had been able to hide his ignorance from her. If he had to confess, sooner was better. "...Sorry. I have no idea."
"Fool!" Her face turned so fierce it seemed it would blow all the sparks in the hearth up at once. Her stiff smile vanished, replaced by a look of utter anger.
"Wh-why are you so—"
"Fool! So you're saying you've no notion of why I found her so irritating, either?!"
If she had shouted at him with such force in her wolf form, she would have destroyed the cottage from the inside. Holo's anger was enough to cause such irrelevant thoughts to cross his mind. He had never seen her tail as puffed up as it suddenly was.
"...Yes."
He had gone too far, and this was the fall.
Holo's lips trembled in outrage, and she finally slumped, as though defeated. It was as though she had burst a blood vessel out of sheer rage.
Lawrence hastily tried to say something, but she gave him such a sharp glare from underneath her bangs that he snapped his mouth shut almost as soon as he opened it.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | If falling, then the top of the waterfall, with the great difference from top to bottom, seemed the likelier candidate. If rising, then either steam, mist, or billowing snow was not difficult to imagine.
His assistance requested, Col had listened intently to each possibility in turn, nodding as though promising not to miss a single detail as he headed out with Fran.
"It's true that so long as she seems so serious, neither the villagers nor the landlord can very well come out and quibble with her," said Lawrence.
He expected Holo to come back with a complaint about Fran being perfectly willing to order her around, but evidently she was not in the mood.
If anything, Holo seemed pleased as she spoke. "'Tis rather absurd for her to have such a reputation as a perverse, stubborn silversmith."
"...Oh?'
Fran was entirely unlike what he had imagined when he first heard of her, but she was the very image of a serious artisan. She had probably been up thinking about her plans all night and had gone out immediately upon the arrival of morning, without any concern for the danger.
Lawrence said as much to Holo, but she only chewed at the roots of her tail fur, flashing a sharp smile when it was properly fluffy. "I expect she's simply chasing after whoever it is she's in love with. That strikes me as neither perverse nor particularly stubborn."
Holo was talking about the person Fran had mentioned the previous night—the one who had first told her the legend of the angel. Whether or not it was true romance or simply unrequited love on Fran's part, Holo and Lawrence seemed to be of a mind on the subject.
And to put it as flatly as Holo did, it was true that perversely stubborn was not, perhaps, the right term. In Fran's position, girls the world over could more accurately be described as "single-minded."
"'Tis rather charming, is it not?"
"I suppose." Lawrence very much doubted that Fran had been lying the previous night. Given that, she started to seem to him like a maiden who goes on pilgrimage to pray for her love, who's gone off to war.
And yet Lawrence still did not understand something. Why had her confession taken the form of an apology for her poor treatment of him at the trading company, and why had Holo's disposition toward Fran improved so much despite the knowledge that she had set out to trap them from the beginning?
He idly poked at the fire in the hearth as he turned the matter over in his mind. It was then that Holo spoke up.
"And to use an apology to deliver such a story. Rather clever of her, was it not?" A large spark flew up into the air—mostly coincidentally—but it looked as though it had jumped in reaction to his own fluster, which was also true.
Lawrence directed his gaze from the hearth to Holo, who was grinning widely, though it was a stiff, unnatural smile.
"Of course, you do know why it was so clever, don't you?"
Lawrence realized it was the height of presumption to think he had been able to hide his ignorance from her. If he had to confess, sooner was better. "...Sorry. I have no idea."
"Fool!" Her face turned so fierce it seemed it would blow all the sparks in the hearth up at once. Her stiff smile vanished, replaced by a look of utter anger.
"Wh-why are you so—"
"Fool! So you're saying you've no notion of why I found her so irritating, either?!"
If she had shouted at him with such force in her wolf form, she would have destroyed the cottage from the inside. Holo's anger was enough to cause such irrelevant thoughts to cross his mind. He had never seen her tail as puffed up as it suddenly was.
"...Yes."
He had gone too far, and this was the fall.
Holo's lips trembled in outrage, and she finally slumped, as though defeated. It was as though she had burst a blood vessel out of sheer rage.
Lawrence hastily tried to say something, but she gave him such a sharp glare from underneath her bangs that he snapped his mouth shut almost as soon as he opened it.
| At this point, Lawrence could hardly help but feel irritated, despite still not knowing what this was all about. But before he could reply, Holo continued.
"You were utterly disgraced!"
Lawrence thought back to the trading company, but still did not understand and looked at Holo with eyes more pleading than Col would ever direct at her. Holo the Wisewolf bared her fangs in contempt and then turned away.
"And right in front of me, no less."
"—Ah..." In that instant, everything connected in his mind.
"Yet still you flail around like some sort of simpleton..."
Holo slumped in utter frustration, seemingly about to collapse sideways at any moment. It was Lawrence, meanwhile, who wanted to stand, but Holo's eyes stitched him in place, like a dog ordered to sit.
"If you dare speak now, I'll show you my true ire."
Lawrence's mouth snapped shut as though nailed that way, but the words swirled around in his chest with such energy that his hands trembled of their own accord.
Holo was angry that he had been so easily outmaneuvered by Fran back at Hugues's shop, yes—but what she was truly furious at was that he had done so in front of her very eyes. Given that, he started to see why she had agreed to Fran's vague conditions. It was not out of amusement at Fran's cleverness. Holo was planning to intervene.
This was why she had complained at Fran's silence during the entire time Lawrence had so shrewdly gotten Vino to tell them the whole story and guide them all the way out here—because she was angry not only at Fran but also at the clueless Lawrence.
Aren't you angry at being made such a fool of? she had been thinking. Aren't you angry at being made the fool in front of none other than me?
And then had come the conversation last night.
Lawrence recalled every word Fran spoke, along with every one of Holo's reactions. Immediately, he held his head in his hands, as though enduring a terrible headache, overwhelmed at his own stupidity.
Fran was chasing the legend of the angel because of someone she loved. That was why she had confessed that fact as an apology—because Lawrence was chasing a map of the northlands for the very same reason.
No wonder Holo's mood had improved. And he could certainly understand why she felt the way she did now.
"...I'm sorry." He had been the only one blind to his own foolishness. He could neither blame Holo for her anger nor her exasperation.
"You truly do seem to move from one foolish act to the next."
He had nothing to say in his defense, but Holo seemed to have no further anger to express. It seemed his stupidity really had exhausted her rage.
Holo heaved a sigh and deliberately looked down at her tail. "That was surely more effective than any tiresome grooming." Her anger had caused it to puff up such that it was much fluffier than usual.
Lawrence knew that if he laughed he was likely to get his throat torn out, so he simply listened.
"Still, I suppose this sort of thing is not so uncommon in life," she said, arching her back in a stretch.
Lawrence was not so idiotic as to think they were still discussing the same topic, but he was idiotic enough not to know what she was actually talking about. "...I don't follow you," he said.
Holo looked at him and smiled a self-deprecating smile. "Oh, just that even the ones that get worshipped as gods had the same troubles, that's all."
"Huh?"
"It happened quite often. I didn't much care one way or the other, but the village elders would scold the younger villagers if they bungled the festival preparations, striking them and saying they'd been rude to me, entirely unconcerned with how I might actually feel. I'd watch this all at a loss...and to think that I'd end up doing just the same thing."
Lawrence knew such situations arose when each party valued the other. But what was he supposed to say? Should he apologize? Or thank her?
Either one seemed foolish.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | At this point, Lawrence could hardly help but feel irritated, despite still not knowing what this was all about. But before he could reply, Holo continued.
"You were utterly disgraced!"
Lawrence thought back to the trading company, but still did not understand and looked at Holo with eyes more pleading than Col would ever direct at her. Holo the Wisewolf bared her fangs in contempt and then turned away.
"And right in front of me, no less."
"—Ah..." In that instant, everything connected in his mind.
"Yet still you flail around like some sort of simpleton..."
Holo slumped in utter frustration, seemingly about to collapse sideways at any moment. It was Lawrence, meanwhile, who wanted to stand, but Holo's eyes stitched him in place, like a dog ordered to sit.
"If you dare speak now, I'll show you my true ire."
Lawrence's mouth snapped shut as though nailed that way, but the words swirled around in his chest with such energy that his hands trembled of their own accord.
Holo was angry that he had been so easily outmaneuvered by Fran back at Hugues's shop, yes—but what she was truly furious at was that he had done so in front of her very eyes. Given that, he started to see why she had agreed to Fran's vague conditions. It was not out of amusement at Fran's cleverness. Holo was planning to intervene.
This was why she had complained at Fran's silence during the entire time Lawrence had so shrewdly gotten Vino to tell them the whole story and guide them all the way out here—because she was angry not only at Fran but also at the clueless Lawrence.
Aren't you angry at being made such a fool of? she had been thinking. Aren't you angry at being made the fool in front of none other than me?
And then had come the conversation last night.
Lawrence recalled every word Fran spoke, along with every one of Holo's reactions. Immediately, he held his head in his hands, as though enduring a terrible headache, overwhelmed at his own stupidity.
Fran was chasing the legend of the angel because of someone she loved. That was why she had confessed that fact as an apology—because Lawrence was chasing a map of the northlands for the very same reason.
No wonder Holo's mood had improved. And he could certainly understand why she felt the way she did now.
"...I'm sorry." He had been the only one blind to his own foolishness. He could neither blame Holo for her anger nor her exasperation.
"You truly do seem to move from one foolish act to the next."
He had nothing to say in his defense, but Holo seemed to have no further anger to express. It seemed his stupidity really had exhausted her rage.
Holo heaved a sigh and deliberately looked down at her tail. "That was surely more effective than any tiresome grooming." Her anger had caused it to puff up such that it was much fluffier than usual.
Lawrence knew that if he laughed he was likely to get his throat torn out, so he simply listened.
"Still, I suppose this sort of thing is not so uncommon in life," she said, arching her back in a stretch.
Lawrence was not so idiotic as to think they were still discussing the same topic, but he was idiotic enough not to know what she was actually talking about. "...I don't follow you," he said.
Holo looked at him and smiled a self-deprecating smile. "Oh, just that even the ones that get worshipped as gods had the same troubles, that's all."
"Huh?"
"It happened quite often. I didn't much care one way or the other, but the village elders would scold the younger villagers if they bungled the festival preparations, striking them and saying they'd been rude to me, entirely unconcerned with how I might actually feel. I'd watch this all at a loss...and to think that I'd end up doing just the same thing."
Lawrence knew such situations arose when each party valued the other. But what was he supposed to say? Should he apologize? Or thank her?
Either one seemed foolish.
| She wore a malicious smile as she spoke, obviously still scolding Lawrence—though as punishment for making her look a fool, it was a cheap thing.
"The problem is," continued Holo, glancing at the hanging skin partition, "what to do when they're already a silent corpse."
Blasphemy against the dead was not so different from hearing about the oppression of innocent people—it demanded righteous anger.
Holo had said as much when they had started looking for the wolf bones: No matter how strong they had been, her kind couldn't bite back in death. Yet somehow, Sister Katerina had happily accepted being called a witch. Perhaps she had just been eccentric.
But Lawrence did not think so, and neither, evidently, did Holo.
She had been kind, and she had accepted it.
"So—that is my reason for wanting to help the girl."
Back in the village of Pasloe, Holo had been forgotten, rendered as mute as a corpse. In the end, she was unable to endure this indignity. She had kicked the dust from her feet and left. But Katerina's name could still be restored.
As Lawrence thought about it, he noted a certain circular logic. Looking at Holo, he saw that the wisewolf had already realized this.
"Though if we go around saying this or that about someone who's died, we're no better than the villagers. And that dried-out corpse doesn't care what people call it. So my lending a hand is not much different than whoever it is that comes and cleans the cottage."
"It's useful for the living, though." After all, one could no more peer into the minds of the living than one could the dead, and there was certainly no way to act solely in the interests of another.
If you dug deeply enough, you would always arrive at the conclusion that you had acted in your own interests. The only problem was acting in such a way that you could live with yourself afterward.
"'Tis hard indeed to continue moving forward as you live. I do feel for the villagers and their landlord. And of course...," Holo said as she tucked her tail back underneath her robe and then hid her ears in her hood. "...You can't help but cheer for the girl who goes to such efforts for the sake of the one she loves, eh?"
Her words came with that same nasty smile, but they were not wrong. And if this was an indication of a desire to be properly mourned after death, then one had to laugh that they had decided to help Fran.
Lawrence and Holo smiled at each other from across the hearth.
Lawrence bet that if he said he had put too much firewood in the hearth, Holo would laugh and laugh.
Midday came, and soon Fran and Col returned.
Lawrence assumed they had come back for food, but that seemed not to be the case. No sooner did Fran enter the cottage than she pressed Lawrence with a question.
"Will you go to the village and have them draw me a map?"
"...A map?"
"Yes."
Despite the cold, Lawrence could see the sweat on her brow, which made it clear just how hurried they had been. Col had sat down immediately upon returning to the cottage and gulped water noisily from a water skin.
Holo brushed the snow off him like he was an unruly little boy, but he was too tired even to thank her.
Given the state Fran and Col were in, there were not very many possibilities as to the cause.
"Did you find a clue to the legend of the angel?"
No sooner had he asked the question than Lawrence found himself very surprised indeed. He imagined that applied to Holo as well, though she was still tending to Col.
The reason was Fran. As soon as she heard Lawrence's question, she smiled in genuine, unself-conscious delight. It was as though she could not hold it back any longer. The perversely stubborn silversmith. The silversmith of constant and unpleasant rumor. For this innocent, lovely smile to be waiting beneath all that, it had to be her true self.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | She wore a malicious smile as she spoke, obviously still scolding Lawrence—though as punishment for making her look a fool, it was a cheap thing.
"The problem is," continued Holo, glancing at the hanging skin partition, "what to do when they're already a silent corpse."
Blasphemy against the dead was not so different from hearing about the oppression of innocent people—it demanded righteous anger.
Holo had said as much when they had started looking for the wolf bones: No matter how strong they had been, her kind couldn't bite back in death. Yet somehow, Sister Katerina had happily accepted being called a witch. Perhaps she had just been eccentric.
But Lawrence did not think so, and neither, evidently, did Holo.
She had been kind, and she had accepted it.
"So—that is my reason for wanting to help the girl."
Back in the village of Pasloe, Holo had been forgotten, rendered as mute as a corpse. In the end, she was unable to endure this indignity. She had kicked the dust from her feet and left. But Katerina's name could still be restored.
As Lawrence thought about it, he noted a certain circular logic. Looking at Holo, he saw that the wisewolf had already realized this.
"Though if we go around saying this or that about someone who's died, we're no better than the villagers. And that dried-out corpse doesn't care what people call it. So my lending a hand is not much different than whoever it is that comes and cleans the cottage."
"It's useful for the living, though." After all, one could no more peer into the minds of the living than one could the dead, and there was certainly no way to act solely in the interests of another.
If you dug deeply enough, you would always arrive at the conclusion that you had acted in your own interests. The only problem was acting in such a way that you could live with yourself afterward.
"'Tis hard indeed to continue moving forward as you live. I do feel for the villagers and their landlord. And of course...," Holo said as she tucked her tail back underneath her robe and then hid her ears in her hood. "...You can't help but cheer for the girl who goes to such efforts for the sake of the one she loves, eh?"
Her words came with that same nasty smile, but they were not wrong. And if this was an indication of a desire to be properly mourned after death, then one had to laugh that they had decided to help Fran.
Lawrence and Holo smiled at each other from across the hearth.
Lawrence bet that if he said he had put too much firewood in the hearth, Holo would laugh and laugh.
Midday came, and soon Fran and Col returned.
Lawrence assumed they had come back for food, but that seemed not to be the case. No sooner did Fran enter the cottage than she pressed Lawrence with a question.
"Will you go to the village and have them draw me a map?"
"...A map?"
"Yes."
Despite the cold, Lawrence could see the sweat on her brow, which made it clear just how hurried they had been. Col had sat down immediately upon returning to the cottage and gulped water noisily from a water skin.
Holo brushed the snow off him like he was an unruly little boy, but he was too tired even to thank her.
Given the state Fran and Col were in, there were not very many possibilities as to the cause.
"Did you find a clue to the legend of the angel?"
No sooner had he asked the question than Lawrence found himself very surprised indeed. He imagined that applied to Holo as well, though she was still tending to Col.
The reason was Fran. As soon as she heard Lawrence's question, she smiled in genuine, unself-conscious delight. It was as though she could not hold it back any longer. The perversely stubborn silversmith. The silversmith of constant and unpleasant rumor. For this innocent, lovely smile to be waiting beneath all that, it had to be her true self.
| Col seemed to have caught his breath, so Holo took the water skin to Fran. It would have been unimaginable not long before, but Fran smiled a grateful smile, which Holo returned.
Fran drank, paused to breathe, then drank more.
They must have run hard. Toward the legend of the angel.
"When you say 'map,' what sort of map do you mean?"
Fran, having caught her breath, started slightly at Lawrence's question. "Hmm?" She looked at him blankly before comprehension finally seemed to dawn on her. She must have planned to tell him what kind of map she needed. "I'm sorry. I need...I need a map that shows how the rivers flow out from the lake."
"The river?" Lawrence asked. It was a strange map to ask for.
"Yes. Walking around the lake, something occurred to me. When it snows and the temperature drops suddenly, all the rivers and streams will freeze. Which means the destination of their flow is lost. Even that waterfall would freeze solid if there were enough snow and cold. But then eventually—well, no barrier will last forever. So I need a map that shows the flow of every stream, no matter how small."
The formerly taciturn Fran, who always seemed as though she were thinking two or three steps ahead of the conversation, was now energetic and voluble. Her expression was serious, but from her rambling words and rapid arm and leg movements, it was obvious she was in a hurry.
"The water would be full of ice and snow, and it would break through and overflow all at once. And it would look like—"
"It would look like the wings of an angel, I should think," said Fran, looking steadily at Lawrence.
She was full of conviction but so happy that she could not believe it herself—that was what she looked like.
The water and snow had been blocked up, unable to flow, and had then broken free one moonlit night. It would've been beautiful, Lawrence thought, and it was an entirely appropriate thing to have been mistaken for an angel's wings. Even knowing the truth, he could imagine calling the scene a miracle nonetheless.
Lawrence excused himself by reminding himself that he would normally never say such an irresponsible thing, and then he spoke to Fran. "I think that's probably it," he said.
Fran was nearly crying from happiness.
"I hope we get to see it."
It seemed to Lawrence that everyone who had ever single-mindedly pursued a goal had something in common: this smile.
"Yes!" replied Fran quickly and clearly.
Fran and Col headed out to the lake again. It seemed she could not bear to spare even the short amount of time it would take to fetch the map.
Col seemed to have been infected with Fran's excitement and followed her out, carrying their things with a seriousness he had never exhibited before.
Holo watched them go, a faintly sad smile playing about her lips. Perhaps she felt as though her favorite little brother were being stolen away.
"Well, then, I suppose we should be off ourselves," said Lawrence, putting his foot in the horse's stirrup.
Holo kept watching Fran and Col, but at these words she turned and came over, taking hold of Lawrence's arm.
He took a breath at the same time she did and lifted her up onto the horse's back. Lawrence followed her up, sitting right in front of her. Taking hold of the reins, he had the horse walk forward.
"She was like a child." Lawrence had to smile at the memory of Fran. Even if he went back to Kerube and told Hugues of it, he doubted the man would believe him.
"'Tis even more childish to believe that an adult should greet a happy event with a calm face." Holo's arms were wrapped around Lawrence and her cheek pressed against his back so that when she talked, the movement of her ear and chin moved ticklishly against him.
"It's true that people become more childish as they get older," said Lawrence, wondering if he should have her sit in front of him.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Col seemed to have caught his breath, so Holo took the water skin to Fran. It would have been unimaginable not long before, but Fran smiled a grateful smile, which Holo returned.
Fran drank, paused to breathe, then drank more.
They must have run hard. Toward the legend of the angel.
"When you say 'map,' what sort of map do you mean?"
Fran, having caught her breath, started slightly at Lawrence's question. "Hmm?" She looked at him blankly before comprehension finally seemed to dawn on her. She must have planned to tell him what kind of map she needed. "I'm sorry. I need...I need a map that shows how the rivers flow out from the lake."
"The river?" Lawrence asked. It was a strange map to ask for.
"Yes. Walking around the lake, something occurred to me. When it snows and the temperature drops suddenly, all the rivers and streams will freeze. Which means the destination of their flow is lost. Even that waterfall would freeze solid if there were enough snow and cold. But then eventually—well, no barrier will last forever. So I need a map that shows the flow of every stream, no matter how small."
The formerly taciturn Fran, who always seemed as though she were thinking two or three steps ahead of the conversation, was now energetic and voluble. Her expression was serious, but from her rambling words and rapid arm and leg movements, it was obvious she was in a hurry.
"The water would be full of ice and snow, and it would break through and overflow all at once. And it would look like—"
"It would look like the wings of an angel, I should think," said Fran, looking steadily at Lawrence.
She was full of conviction but so happy that she could not believe it herself—that was what she looked like.
The water and snow had been blocked up, unable to flow, and had then broken free one moonlit night. It would've been beautiful, Lawrence thought, and it was an entirely appropriate thing to have been mistaken for an angel's wings. Even knowing the truth, he could imagine calling the scene a miracle nonetheless.
Lawrence excused himself by reminding himself that he would normally never say such an irresponsible thing, and then he spoke to Fran. "I think that's probably it," he said.
Fran was nearly crying from happiness.
"I hope we get to see it."
It seemed to Lawrence that everyone who had ever single-mindedly pursued a goal had something in common: this smile.
"Yes!" replied Fran quickly and clearly.
Fran and Col headed out to the lake again. It seemed she could not bear to spare even the short amount of time it would take to fetch the map.
Col seemed to have been infected with Fran's excitement and followed her out, carrying their things with a seriousness he had never exhibited before.
Holo watched them go, a faintly sad smile playing about her lips. Perhaps she felt as though her favorite little brother were being stolen away.
"Well, then, I suppose we should be off ourselves," said Lawrence, putting his foot in the horse's stirrup.
Holo kept watching Fran and Col, but at these words she turned and came over, taking hold of Lawrence's arm.
He took a breath at the same time she did and lifted her up onto the horse's back. Lawrence followed her up, sitting right in front of her. Taking hold of the reins, he had the horse walk forward.
"She was like a child." Lawrence had to smile at the memory of Fran. Even if he went back to Kerube and told Hugues of it, he doubted the man would believe him.
"'Tis even more childish to believe that an adult should greet a happy event with a calm face." Holo's arms were wrapped around Lawrence and her cheek pressed against his back so that when she talked, the movement of her ear and chin moved ticklishly against him.
"It's true that people become more childish as they get older," said Lawrence, wondering if he should have her sit in front of him.
| There by the hearth, Fran had spoken bashfully of someone she had called a friend. There had to be a reason she had come here without them.
Of course, it could very well be that this friend was an artisan in some town somewhere and unable to leave easily. But in this day and age, Lawrence could only imagine darker reasons.
By the way Fran had spoken, it sounded like there was a time when they had traveled together but had to separate during the journey.
The reason might have been injury, sickness, or worse.
Holo switched the cheek that was pressed against Lawrence's back from one side to the other. "And to see such a smile from her after she'd worn so thick a mask. I wonder what she would've done had we not been the ones to escort her? That little fool."
Lawrence sighed softly at Holo's words. "Indeed. They probably would've been scared off by her single-minded determination to chase the angel legend, turned tail, and left her on her own. Such things happen quite often."
Those who feared danger would gain nothing. And yet, pressing on in the face of danger would eventually lead to disaster. If they were to play the part of the bringers of good fortune, they might as well bring it. Holo laughed; she understood this perfectly well.
"Well, she's got pluck enough to use Holo the Wisewolf of Yoitsu as her messenger. I'd say she's got good fortune to spare."
That was true enough. But it got Lawrence to thinking—just how lucky had he been to have Holo join him in his travels? The moment he thought about it, Holo seemed to see right through him, her cheek still pressed to his back. She chuckled an unpleasant, throaty chuckle. No doubt it had been part of her plan to sit behind him, leaving him nowhere to retreat.
"I'm fortunate indeed to have been blessed with such a wonderful traveling companion as yourself. There, are you happy?"
Holo raised her voice in a laugh. "And just who are you thanking?"
He had come along with her this far, so he had to see it through to the end. "Holo the Wisewolf of Yoitsu," he said, gripping the reins.
"Mm. Well, see to it that you stay good and thankful."
He heard the sound of her tail swishing.
Profit could warm his coin purse, but never his back. This sort of thing was nice once in a while.
Lawrence urged the horse on, feeling Holo's warmth behind him.
When they returned to the village, it seemed like a perfectly ordinary day.
Some villagers were tending crops, some led livestock, some mended clothing, and some beat cooking pots clean.
Lawrence noticed Holo narrow her eyes wistfully. This was a scene that they could see anywhere—that they could continue to see no matter where they traveled.
"Their lack of integrity angers me, but I can understand why they would wish to protect this," said Holo quietly and meaningfully.
"Indeed. And if Miss Fran is to be believed, there are even some villagers who didn't want to claim Sister Katerina was a witch. Perhaps they meant to gain some redemption by keeping her cottage clean."
It was exceedingly difficult to lead a straightforward, uncomplicated life. Holo remained silent—she understood that no single person was at fault, but was also unwilling to condone the situation.
"Well, if we do our job, the evil witch may well turn back into a pious nun. Then Fran will be able to dedicate herself to searching out the angel legend, she'll draw us our map of the northlands, and everyone will be happy. Right?"
The landlord would probably continue his maneuvering, using the nun's silent corpse as a new reason for the villagers to stay out of the forest. Holo was obviously unsatisfied with that, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Being a clever wolf, Holo could see there was nothing to be gained from anger and let her puffed-up cheeks deflate.
"So first things first—the map. It would be nice if we could track down Mr. Vino."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | There by the hearth, Fran had spoken bashfully of someone she had called a friend. There had to be a reason she had come here without them.
Of course, it could very well be that this friend was an artisan in some town somewhere and unable to leave easily. But in this day and age, Lawrence could only imagine darker reasons.
By the way Fran had spoken, it sounded like there was a time when they had traveled together but had to separate during the journey.
The reason might have been injury, sickness, or worse.
Holo switched the cheek that was pressed against Lawrence's back from one side to the other. "And to see such a smile from her after she'd worn so thick a mask. I wonder what she would've done had we not been the ones to escort her? That little fool."
Lawrence sighed softly at Holo's words. "Indeed. They probably would've been scared off by her single-minded determination to chase the angel legend, turned tail, and left her on her own. Such things happen quite often."
Those who feared danger would gain nothing. And yet, pressing on in the face of danger would eventually lead to disaster. If they were to play the part of the bringers of good fortune, they might as well bring it. Holo laughed; she understood this perfectly well.
"Well, she's got pluck enough to use Holo the Wisewolf of Yoitsu as her messenger. I'd say she's got good fortune to spare."
That was true enough. But it got Lawrence to thinking—just how lucky had he been to have Holo join him in his travels? The moment he thought about it, Holo seemed to see right through him, her cheek still pressed to his back. She chuckled an unpleasant, throaty chuckle. No doubt it had been part of her plan to sit behind him, leaving him nowhere to retreat.
"I'm fortunate indeed to have been blessed with such a wonderful traveling companion as yourself. There, are you happy?"
Holo raised her voice in a laugh. "And just who are you thanking?"
He had come along with her this far, so he had to see it through to the end. "Holo the Wisewolf of Yoitsu," he said, gripping the reins.
"Mm. Well, see to it that you stay good and thankful."
He heard the sound of her tail swishing.
Profit could warm his coin purse, but never his back. This sort of thing was nice once in a while.
Lawrence urged the horse on, feeling Holo's warmth behind him.
When they returned to the village, it seemed like a perfectly ordinary day.
Some villagers were tending crops, some led livestock, some mended clothing, and some beat cooking pots clean.
Lawrence noticed Holo narrow her eyes wistfully. This was a scene that they could see anywhere—that they could continue to see no matter where they traveled.
"Their lack of integrity angers me, but I can understand why they would wish to protect this," said Holo quietly and meaningfully.
"Indeed. And if Miss Fran is to be believed, there are even some villagers who didn't want to claim Sister Katerina was a witch. Perhaps they meant to gain some redemption by keeping her cottage clean."
It was exceedingly difficult to lead a straightforward, uncomplicated life. Holo remained silent—she understood that no single person was at fault, but was also unwilling to condone the situation.
"Well, if we do our job, the evil witch may well turn back into a pious nun. Then Fran will be able to dedicate herself to searching out the angel legend, she'll draw us our map of the northlands, and everyone will be happy. Right?"
The landlord would probably continue his maneuvering, using the nun's silent corpse as a new reason for the villagers to stay out of the forest. Holo was obviously unsatisfied with that, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Being a clever wolf, Holo could see there was nothing to be gained from anger and let her puffed-up cheeks deflate.
"So first things first—the map. It would be nice if we could track down Mr. Vino."
| The people working in their homes took note of them but didn't seem particularly interested, recognizing them from the previous day's events. Perhaps Mueller or Vino had explained their circumstances.
Just as they were about to head for Vino's house, they came across him in the village square, crafting arrows with some other men. They each had a white arrowhead in their hands and were carving and polishing them with stones. They were probably made from bones taken from the deer they had felled the previous day.
"Mr. Vino," Lawrence called out.
Vino looked up and smiled when he realized who it was. He waved, set down the arrowhead he was working on, and trotted over to Lawrence. "Hey, there. You seem to have made it back safely."
"Yes, thank you. Making arrows, eh?" asked Lawrence.
Vino glanced over his shoulder and nodded. "Aye. It'll be spring soon, with humans and animals alike starting to stir. We'll shoulder our arrows and travel around to nearby landlords and towns to sell them. How did you fare?"
Most arrows made in towns were of iron. They were strong but expensive, and because they were made under the control of the craftsmen's guilds, they could be difficult to obtain with short notice for those without connections or with bad reputations in those towns. Without much else to do during the winter, the villagers seemed to be making ready to fill that demand with their handiwork.
Bone arrowheads were effective enough, especially when smeared with poison, and many archers even preferred them.
"Ah, yes, well, we have a favor to ask."
"Oh ho. What is it?"
"Actually, we need a map drawn for us."
Vino tilted his head at Lawrence's words. "Ah, er, a...map, you say? We don't much use them. What sort of map?"
"One of the area around the lake, including all the streams and rivers that flow out from it."
It seemed to take Vino a moment to understand what Lawrence was saying, and he was silent. When he finally did speak, it was in a voice that sounded hesitant and worried about being overheard. "You're not thinking of building a water mill, are you?" The simple villager's tone was nervously joking.
"We have no need of a water mill," said Lawrence without much enthusiasm. "It seems the way the water flows is important to the angel legend, and Sister Fran requires a map in order to properly guide us."
The explanation smelled fishy even to Lawrence, but Vino nodded, evidently believing it. "Ah, I see. Well, if that's all, it should be fine. The village has been told to cooperate with you, and it gives me an excuse for a break, so."
Regardless of how it was in larger towns, in small villages everyone pitched in on the same work. What was important was not who had done what, but whether all the work had been done or not.
Some found this burdensome and left for the towns, but many others found the camaraderie pleasant and reassuring. Different ways of looking at the same thing could give very different impressions.
"If you please, then," Lawrence replied.
"Well, shall we go see Mr. Mueller? His place is the only one with paper and ink."
"Yes, let's."
Vino nodded, giving his fellow arrow carvers a shout before beginning to walk.
It was not unlike scenes Lawrence had seen at many trading companies, and from time to time, he had thought that it would be nice to have comrades. This pang came to him less now, though—because he had them.
Perhaps Holo was thinking the same thing, because when their eyes met, they shared a secret smile as they followed behind Vino.
"Hey, Mr. Mueller!" called Vino.
Mueller happened to be leaving his house at just that moment. At his side, he had a stack of dried skins, and in one hand he held a large, fine knife. He was probably about to cut them up and make them into boots or the like. Despite Mueller's large body and hands, Lawrence got the feeling he was very skilled in their use.
"Ah, with our visitors. What is it?"
"I'm glad we caught you. We need to borrow paper and ink."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The people working in their homes took note of them but didn't seem particularly interested, recognizing them from the previous day's events. Perhaps Mueller or Vino had explained their circumstances.
Just as they were about to head for Vino's house, they came across him in the village square, crafting arrows with some other men. They each had a white arrowhead in their hands and were carving and polishing them with stones. They were probably made from bones taken from the deer they had felled the previous day.
"Mr. Vino," Lawrence called out.
Vino looked up and smiled when he realized who it was. He waved, set down the arrowhead he was working on, and trotted over to Lawrence. "Hey, there. You seem to have made it back safely."
"Yes, thank you. Making arrows, eh?" asked Lawrence.
Vino glanced over his shoulder and nodded. "Aye. It'll be spring soon, with humans and animals alike starting to stir. We'll shoulder our arrows and travel around to nearby landlords and towns to sell them. How did you fare?"
Most arrows made in towns were of iron. They were strong but expensive, and because they were made under the control of the craftsmen's guilds, they could be difficult to obtain with short notice for those without connections or with bad reputations in those towns. Without much else to do during the winter, the villagers seemed to be making ready to fill that demand with their handiwork.
Bone arrowheads were effective enough, especially when smeared with poison, and many archers even preferred them.
"Ah, yes, well, we have a favor to ask."
"Oh ho. What is it?"
"Actually, we need a map drawn for us."
Vino tilted his head at Lawrence's words. "Ah, er, a...map, you say? We don't much use them. What sort of map?"
"One of the area around the lake, including all the streams and rivers that flow out from it."
It seemed to take Vino a moment to understand what Lawrence was saying, and he was silent. When he finally did speak, it was in a voice that sounded hesitant and worried about being overheard. "You're not thinking of building a water mill, are you?" The simple villager's tone was nervously joking.
"We have no need of a water mill," said Lawrence without much enthusiasm. "It seems the way the water flows is important to the angel legend, and Sister Fran requires a map in order to properly guide us."
The explanation smelled fishy even to Lawrence, but Vino nodded, evidently believing it. "Ah, I see. Well, if that's all, it should be fine. The village has been told to cooperate with you, and it gives me an excuse for a break, so."
Regardless of how it was in larger towns, in small villages everyone pitched in on the same work. What was important was not who had done what, but whether all the work had been done or not.
Some found this burdensome and left for the towns, but many others found the camaraderie pleasant and reassuring. Different ways of looking at the same thing could give very different impressions.
"If you please, then," Lawrence replied.
"Well, shall we go see Mr. Mueller? His place is the only one with paper and ink."
"Yes, let's."
Vino nodded, giving his fellow arrow carvers a shout before beginning to walk.
It was not unlike scenes Lawrence had seen at many trading companies, and from time to time, he had thought that it would be nice to have comrades. This pang came to him less now, though—because he had them.
Perhaps Holo was thinking the same thing, because when their eyes met, they shared a secret smile as they followed behind Vino.
"Hey, Mr. Mueller!" called Vino.
Mueller happened to be leaving his house at just that moment. At his side, he had a stack of dried skins, and in one hand he held a large, fine knife. He was probably about to cut them up and make them into boots or the like. Despite Mueller's large body and hands, Lawrence got the feeling he was very skilled in their use.
"Ah, with our visitors. What is it?"
"I'm glad we caught you. We need to borrow paper and ink."
| "They say they want a map. Of the lake area."
"A map?" Mueller looked back and forth between Vino and Lawrence and seemed to think something over. "Fine," he said eventually, then handed the skins and knife to Vino. "I'll draw it."
Holo looked down, the better to hide her smile beneath her hood. The moment he had heard Mueller's answer, Vino's face had fallen like a child whose toy has been taken away.
"You managed to sneak your way into getting meat yesterday without helping with the deer, didn't you?" said Mueller with a smug, older brotherish smile.
He was right, so Vino had no choice but nod in sad agreement.
"Off you go, then. These are for Lanan, Suk, and Sylhet. Ask Jana about the big one."
"Fine, fine!" grumbled Vino. Mueller grinned as he watched Vino go.
This was a good village, Lawrence thought. It was a shame to have such good cheer spoiled by rumors of a witch.
"I'll draw it inside. A map of the lake, you said?"
"More precisely, the area surrounding the lake, including all the rivers and streams that flow out of it."
Inside the house were hunting implements, knives and clasps for cleaning and tanning skins, workbenches, and sewn into the gaps between all these were necessities like a hearth and straw bed. It had a singular aura, totally unlike a town workshop or trading company. It was a sturdy place, fitting for a man who oversaw an entire village.
"Ah. That's a strange map to need." Unsurprisingly, his reaction was unlike Vino's. And his mind was quicker. "I'll bet Vino asked you if you were planning to build a water mill, eh?"
"He did indeed," Lawrence confessed, which Mueller grinned at.
"That fool. He came to me last night, pale faced, to tell me you'd asked about our hand grinding of grain. I gave him a smack and told him if you'd planned to build a mill, you wouldn't have gone out of your way to point out our ways." Like the landlord, he was skilled at using circumstances to keep the village safe.
Mueller pulled a workbench out and took an old sheaf of paper down from a shelf. "I hope this sort of paper will do."
The paper Mueller produced was old and discolored with tattered corners. It would not have been worth much in a town.
"For your trouble," said Lawrence, producing some salt, which Mueller nodded at, satisfied.
"Now then," said Mueller as he took out a cracked, old inkstone and a battered quill pen. "I don't think it will take much time, but feel free to sit anywhere."
Lawrence nodded and sat down on a chest. Holo teased a chicken that had wandered its way into the house.
"So how goes your quest for the legend?" Mueller asked. His gaze was directed at the top of the paper, and though his hand was quickly drawing the map, his attention was entirely on Lawrence.
Lawrence doubted this was merely small talk.
"She seems to have seized upon something. She was very insistent that I come and get this map."
"Ah, I see," said Mueller as he drew. He could probably endure any amount of waiting against an animal, but not, apparently, against human opponents. Soon he spoke again. "Was there a witch?"
This was what he was most concerned about. As the one most responsible for protecting the village, he was more worried about shapeless rumors than he was about water mills. When it came right down to it, they could stop the construction of a mill by chaining themselves to the trees. But banishing rumors of a witch was much more difficult.
His hand stopped, and even a child could tell his eyes were not focused on the paper. Lawrence watched Holo harassing the chicken, then smiled and spoke. "No, there wasn't."
The quiet scratching of the quill resumed. "I see," Mueller said and then continued the work in silence. Such a man was well suited to being a hunter. "This map would be different depending on the season."
As Mueller spoke, Holo and the chicken seemed to have come to an understanding, with the latter tucking its head under its wing and sleeping at her feet.
"She said all she needed was a map for the winter."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "They say they want a map. Of the lake area."
"A map?" Mueller looked back and forth between Vino and Lawrence and seemed to think something over. "Fine," he said eventually, then handed the skins and knife to Vino. "I'll draw it."
Holo looked down, the better to hide her smile beneath her hood. The moment he had heard Mueller's answer, Vino's face had fallen like a child whose toy has been taken away.
"You managed to sneak your way into getting meat yesterday without helping with the deer, didn't you?" said Mueller with a smug, older brotherish smile.
He was right, so Vino had no choice but nod in sad agreement.
"Off you go, then. These are for Lanan, Suk, and Sylhet. Ask Jana about the big one."
"Fine, fine!" grumbled Vino. Mueller grinned as he watched Vino go.
This was a good village, Lawrence thought. It was a shame to have such good cheer spoiled by rumors of a witch.
"I'll draw it inside. A map of the lake, you said?"
"More precisely, the area surrounding the lake, including all the rivers and streams that flow out of it."
Inside the house were hunting implements, knives and clasps for cleaning and tanning skins, workbenches, and sewn into the gaps between all these were necessities like a hearth and straw bed. It had a singular aura, totally unlike a town workshop or trading company. It was a sturdy place, fitting for a man who oversaw an entire village.
"Ah. That's a strange map to need." Unsurprisingly, his reaction was unlike Vino's. And his mind was quicker. "I'll bet Vino asked you if you were planning to build a water mill, eh?"
"He did indeed," Lawrence confessed, which Mueller grinned at.
"That fool. He came to me last night, pale faced, to tell me you'd asked about our hand grinding of grain. I gave him a smack and told him if you'd planned to build a mill, you wouldn't have gone out of your way to point out our ways." Like the landlord, he was skilled at using circumstances to keep the village safe.
Mueller pulled a workbench out and took an old sheaf of paper down from a shelf. "I hope this sort of paper will do."
The paper Mueller produced was old and discolored with tattered corners. It would not have been worth much in a town.
"For your trouble," said Lawrence, producing some salt, which Mueller nodded at, satisfied.
"Now then," said Mueller as he took out a cracked, old inkstone and a battered quill pen. "I don't think it will take much time, but feel free to sit anywhere."
Lawrence nodded and sat down on a chest. Holo teased a chicken that had wandered its way into the house.
"So how goes your quest for the legend?" Mueller asked. His gaze was directed at the top of the paper, and though his hand was quickly drawing the map, his attention was entirely on Lawrence.
Lawrence doubted this was merely small talk.
"She seems to have seized upon something. She was very insistent that I come and get this map."
"Ah, I see," said Mueller as he drew. He could probably endure any amount of waiting against an animal, but not, apparently, against human opponents. Soon he spoke again. "Was there a witch?"
This was what he was most concerned about. As the one most responsible for protecting the village, he was more worried about shapeless rumors than he was about water mills. When it came right down to it, they could stop the construction of a mill by chaining themselves to the trees. But banishing rumors of a witch was much more difficult.
His hand stopped, and even a child could tell his eyes were not focused on the paper. Lawrence watched Holo harassing the chicken, then smiled and spoke. "No, there wasn't."
The quiet scratching of the quill resumed. "I see," Mueller said and then continued the work in silence. Such a man was well suited to being a hunter. "This map would be different depending on the season."
As Mueller spoke, Holo and the chicken seemed to have come to an understanding, with the latter tucking its head under its wing and sleeping at her feet.
"She said all she needed was a map for the winter."
| "You can take it once the ink's dry. Given the hour, you ought to be able to make it by sunset."
"Thank you very much."
"Not at all. I'm sure Vino said the same thing last night."
It didn't seem to Lawrence as though Mueller was trying to avoid work, but it was good manners to laugh at the joke anyway.
Mueller accepted the bag of salt. In a village so poor in currency, finding some of the basic necessities could be a constant struggle.
"My thanks," he said. "Now, I ought to go check in on Vino. You'd be surprised at how clumsy he can be. If he ruins those skins, I'll have to beat his backside with the tendons."
It was every bit the sort of thing a master craftsman would say, and Lawrence could not help but laugh. Holo was leaning against the doorway, and she smiled as she watched the village, listening to Lawrence and Mueller's conversation. If one were to wish for a certain day to continue forever, this would be a good day to pick.
But then, she raised her voice in a curious "Hmm?" as Mueller left the house and had just gotten to the space under the eaves.
"What is it?" Mueller stopped in his tracks and looked off into the distance.
His eyes were fixed on a spot outside the village, roughly where the elder had been sitting when he stopped Lawrence the previous day. It was a place on the road leading into the village that anyone entering would have to pass. Lawrence heard something that sounded like the footsteps of rats and soon realized it was the sound of horses at a great distance. He looked hard and saw what looked to be an old man riding at the head, trailed by many armed men who carried spears.
Mueller watched them disappear behind a house, and his face went instantly pale. "—!" He dropped the bag of tools he was carrying and started running as the riders came out from behind the house and headed for the center of the village. The startled chicken started to run, and Holo stood.
"What's the matter?"
"I have no idea. But they have spears."
"Mm."
If Lawrence's eyes did not deceive him, there were flags dangling from the spears. Mercenaries would be armed with poleaxes rather than spears. That left few possibilities.
He heard voices calling from the distance.
"We summon Mueller and the village elder!"
Holo turned to Lawrence, but Lawrence had nothing to say—because Mueller had run out of the house across from them and was coming toward them.
"The landlord's governor. He's finally come!" Mueller's forehead was sweaty and his face pale.
He ran into the house, opened a chest, and produced a bundle of parchment from a pot. It was probably the charter that most villages had.
Something that threatened the very existence of the village had happened.
"You two—" said Mueller, looking at the parchment. "There's a path to the lake from the rear of the village. It's well maintained, so you shouldn't have any problems. The governor doesn't know about you, so if you run you should arrive quickly. Tell the nun, will you please?" he said, rolling the map up on the workbench and thrusting it at Lawrence before bodily urging them toward the house's rear door. There was a finality to his movement that was more compelling than any physical strength.
Once they got to the rear door, Lawrence peered at Mueller's face.
"Tell her that the landlord's come to lay waste to any lands where the legend of the angel remains. And tell her to tell the Church."
"But—"
"Please! If you don't hurry, it will be too late!"
Lawrence gave Holo a quick look; she nodded.
Yet there was a hesitation in her eyes—she was surely considering whether or not they should simply run. After all, none of them had come to prove that Katerina was a witch, and the landlord should, if anything, be glad for the existence of Church figures who believed her to be a simple nun.
But then Mueller said a strange thing. "We'll repay this favor. For the sister's sake, as well." He looked back at the door, then again to Lawrence. "The forest and the lake will be destroyed."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "You can take it once the ink's dry. Given the hour, you ought to be able to make it by sunset."
"Thank you very much."
"Not at all. I'm sure Vino said the same thing last night."
It didn't seem to Lawrence as though Mueller was trying to avoid work, but it was good manners to laugh at the joke anyway.
Mueller accepted the bag of salt. In a village so poor in currency, finding some of the basic necessities could be a constant struggle.
"My thanks," he said. "Now, I ought to go check in on Vino. You'd be surprised at how clumsy he can be. If he ruins those skins, I'll have to beat his backside with the tendons."
It was every bit the sort of thing a master craftsman would say, and Lawrence could not help but laugh. Holo was leaning against the doorway, and she smiled as she watched the village, listening to Lawrence and Mueller's conversation. If one were to wish for a certain day to continue forever, this would be a good day to pick.
But then, she raised her voice in a curious "Hmm?" as Mueller left the house and had just gotten to the space under the eaves.
"What is it?" Mueller stopped in his tracks and looked off into the distance.
His eyes were fixed on a spot outside the village, roughly where the elder had been sitting when he stopped Lawrence the previous day. It was a place on the road leading into the village that anyone entering would have to pass. Lawrence heard something that sounded like the footsteps of rats and soon realized it was the sound of horses at a great distance. He looked hard and saw what looked to be an old man riding at the head, trailed by many armed men who carried spears.
Mueller watched them disappear behind a house, and his face went instantly pale. "—!" He dropped the bag of tools he was carrying and started running as the riders came out from behind the house and headed for the center of the village. The startled chicken started to run, and Holo stood.
"What's the matter?"
"I have no idea. But they have spears."
"Mm."
If Lawrence's eyes did not deceive him, there were flags dangling from the spears. Mercenaries would be armed with poleaxes rather than spears. That left few possibilities.
He heard voices calling from the distance.
"We summon Mueller and the village elder!"
Holo turned to Lawrence, but Lawrence had nothing to say—because Mueller had run out of the house across from them and was coming toward them.
"The landlord's governor. He's finally come!" Mueller's forehead was sweaty and his face pale.
He ran into the house, opened a chest, and produced a bundle of parchment from a pot. It was probably the charter that most villages had.
Something that threatened the very existence of the village had happened.
"You two—" said Mueller, looking at the parchment. "There's a path to the lake from the rear of the village. It's well maintained, so you shouldn't have any problems. The governor doesn't know about you, so if you run you should arrive quickly. Tell the nun, will you please?" he said, rolling the map up on the workbench and thrusting it at Lawrence before bodily urging them toward the house's rear door. There was a finality to his movement that was more compelling than any physical strength.
Once they got to the rear door, Lawrence peered at Mueller's face.
"Tell her that the landlord's come to lay waste to any lands where the legend of the angel remains. And tell her to tell the Church."
"But—"
"Please! If you don't hurry, it will be too late!"
Lawrence gave Holo a quick look; she nodded.
Yet there was a hesitation in her eyes—she was surely considering whether or not they should simply run. After all, none of them had come to prove that Katerina was a witch, and the landlord should, if anything, be glad for the existence of Church figures who believed her to be a simple nun.
But then Mueller said a strange thing. "We'll repay this favor. For the sister's sake, as well." He looked back at the door, then again to Lawrence. "The forest and the lake will be destroyed."
| Lawrence hesitated but eventually took Holo's hand and ran.
The forest and the lake would be destroyed?
The question burned inside him as he ran.
***
They soon found the path from the back of the village into the forest.
It was narrow, just wide enough to accommodate hunters carrying felled deer. Still, the snow was packed hard with footsteps and brushed free from sticks and branches, so it was well traveled and running was easy.
Lawrence and Holo ran for all they were worth through the trees in the forest.
"What was all that about?"
"No idea. He said that was the governor. Seems like it'll be...trouble for the village." Lawrence took a break in the middle of his sentence to jump over a tree root. Lawrence lifted the hem of Holo's robe to do likewise, which she managed quite lightly.
"He said the forest and lake would be destroyed."
"He did," said Lawrence, and just then he thought of something.
The governor and his troops had descended on the village, sending the village's representative, Mueller, into a panic. And if the forest and the lake were going to be destroyed, that suggested but one thing.
But he said nothing about it to Holo—not for any particular reason, but simply because his breath was too ragged for him to speak.
Holo started to lag, and Lawrence took her hand as they ascended a gentle hill.
"I should've taken...my true form," said Holo, though whether she was joking or not was unclear. Just then, the path made a sudden left turn and brightened. Following the line of sight, they could see the lake. They kept going that way for a time, soon reaching a side path that descended to the lake. Down the slope they slid.
There were footprints—perhaps Col's and Fran's—by the lake, but they seemed to run in two directions, both coming and going.
Lawrence looked around, and there were two figures at the entrance to the path that led to the cottage by the waterfall. They seemed to be watching something and were not moving. Lawrence waved his hand and was about to call out to them, but then Holo stopped him.
"Ngh! Hey—what's wrong?"
"Don't raise your voice," said Holo quietly. For a moment he wondered if she was making some kind of joke, but there was nothing funny about her expression.
Lawrence directed his gaze back at Fran and Col, and then he realized they were not looking at anything, much less being affectionate with each other.
They were stock-still. As though they were holding their breath.
"There's probably someone at the bottom of the hill."
"...If that's so, shouldn't they hide?"
"Fool. In this kind of place, even if they're in plain sight they won't be spotted, so long as they don't move. But even behind the trees, if we move, we'll be spotted."
Holo was a wolf, a hunter of the forest, so if she said so, it was true.
Now that she had told him, Lawrence found that when he looked more closely he could see Fran's and Col's bodies frozen in place, with Col in a characteristically awkward, panicked pose.
Fran had done exactly the right thing.
But what Lawrence wanted to know was why she was familiar with the tactics for such rough circumstances when even he had been unfamiliar with them?
"Hmph." Holo sniffed, probably thinking the same thing.
After a while, Fran's pose relaxed, and she faced Lawrence and Holo, beckoning them over. Despite the good distance between them, she seemed to have recognized them.
Lawrence gave the displeased Holo a nudge from behind, and the two of them ran in Fran's direction.
"What happened?" Lawrence asked Fran.
Col's anxiety seemed to evaporate when he recognized Lawrence and Holo, and he collapsed to the ground in relief.
"Soldiers came to the cottage. And you?"
"The same. Soldiers at the village. Apparently the landlord has come in force. They say the forest and lake will be destroyed."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Lawrence hesitated but eventually took Holo's hand and ran.
The forest and the lake would be destroyed?
The question burned inside him as he ran.
***
They soon found the path from the back of the village into the forest.
It was narrow, just wide enough to accommodate hunters carrying felled deer. Still, the snow was packed hard with footsteps and brushed free from sticks and branches, so it was well traveled and running was easy.
Lawrence and Holo ran for all they were worth through the trees in the forest.
"What was all that about?"
"No idea. He said that was the governor. Seems like it'll be...trouble for the village." Lawrence took a break in the middle of his sentence to jump over a tree root. Lawrence lifted the hem of Holo's robe to do likewise, which she managed quite lightly.
"He said the forest and lake would be destroyed."
"He did," said Lawrence, and just then he thought of something.
The governor and his troops had descended on the village, sending the village's representative, Mueller, into a panic. And if the forest and the lake were going to be destroyed, that suggested but one thing.
But he said nothing about it to Holo—not for any particular reason, but simply because his breath was too ragged for him to speak.
Holo started to lag, and Lawrence took her hand as they ascended a gentle hill.
"I should've taken...my true form," said Holo, though whether she was joking or not was unclear. Just then, the path made a sudden left turn and brightened. Following the line of sight, they could see the lake. They kept going that way for a time, soon reaching a side path that descended to the lake. Down the slope they slid.
There were footprints—perhaps Col's and Fran's—by the lake, but they seemed to run in two directions, both coming and going.
Lawrence looked around, and there were two figures at the entrance to the path that led to the cottage by the waterfall. They seemed to be watching something and were not moving. Lawrence waved his hand and was about to call out to them, but then Holo stopped him.
"Ngh! Hey—what's wrong?"
"Don't raise your voice," said Holo quietly. For a moment he wondered if she was making some kind of joke, but there was nothing funny about her expression.
Lawrence directed his gaze back at Fran and Col, and then he realized they were not looking at anything, much less being affectionate with each other.
They were stock-still. As though they were holding their breath.
"There's probably someone at the bottom of the hill."
"...If that's so, shouldn't they hide?"
"Fool. In this kind of place, even if they're in plain sight they won't be spotted, so long as they don't move. But even behind the trees, if we move, we'll be spotted."
Holo was a wolf, a hunter of the forest, so if she said so, it was true.
Now that she had told him, Lawrence found that when he looked more closely he could see Fran's and Col's bodies frozen in place, with Col in a characteristically awkward, panicked pose.
Fran had done exactly the right thing.
But what Lawrence wanted to know was why she was familiar with the tactics for such rough circumstances when even he had been unfamiliar with them?
"Hmph." Holo sniffed, probably thinking the same thing.
After a while, Fran's pose relaxed, and she faced Lawrence and Holo, beckoning them over. Despite the good distance between them, she seemed to have recognized them.
Lawrence gave the displeased Holo a nudge from behind, and the two of them ran in Fran's direction.
"What happened?" Lawrence asked Fran.
Col's anxiety seemed to evaporate when he recognized Lawrence and Holo, and he collapsed to the ground in relief.
"Soldiers came to the cottage. And you?"
"The same. Soldiers at the village. Apparently the landlord has come in force. They say the forest and lake will be destroyed."
| "I'm impressed with their lack of scruples."
"You mean—" Lawrence said, but before he could even finish the question, Fran continued.
"They've come here to make Katerina no more."
In that instant, Lawrence understood their goal.
Katerina was already dead, so Fran's words took on a more literal meaning.
"I suppose you could say we're in an age of money, where things like Church or pagan no longer matter." It was a good line. Fran chuckled blackly through her anger at the joke and then sighed. "I'd come so far...and now the landlord decides to act? I was so close...so, so close...," she said, frustrated, the sound of her clenching fists audible even beneath her robe.
Having been cast about between the Church and the pagans, the landlord had chosen a third option. Seeing the visible decline of Church power, he had surely grown sick of being used by them. He would erase every trace of Katerina, distancing himself from religious conflicts and never bothering to clear her name.
Moreover, he would construct a water mill, and in conjunction with a new northern campaign incited by the Debau Company, he would use the mill's power to attract craftsmen and workers—for in the face of money, what could the Church or the pagans say?
"Did you get the map?" Fran looked up, almost glaring at Lawrence.
"I did...but please, wait a moment."
Fran started to step forward, but Lawrence stopped her, giving her a look that was every bit as serious as the one she wore.
"Please calm down. If the landlord has decided to destroy all traces of Katerina, then our presence is an obstacle. Arguing with him will be impossible, and he's hardly likely to let you continue to investigate the legend of the angel."
Fran's face contorted at Lawrence's words. The girl was no fool. Even in anger, she was just as clever as she had always been.
"I know the legend was right in front of you. And I know you didn't come here on some whim. But it's too dangerous.
"We must flee."
When Lawrence said the words, Fran flinched as though physically struck by them, taking one step back, then another. He could understand Col hurrying to her side to support her. Had he failed to do so, she would have fallen to the ground.
"...No...I can't...I was so close..."
It was so recently that she had been delighted, unable to contain her excitement as she jumped into the cottage. And now her despair was proportional to her anticipation, too heavy to bear.
Holo's face was pained, and she said nothing.
If they were going to run, they would have to do so now, while the soldiers had briefly retreated.
"I'm sorry, but...," Lawrence started, and he tried to take Fran's hand. But then—
"Lud Kieman told me about you."
Lawrence was at a loss for words, partially because he did not understand what she meant. But it was not because suddenly hearing Kieman's name felt like she had correctly guessed something that should have been a secret. If she was going to partner with Lawrence and his companions, a simple investigation would have led her to Kerube, where it was reasonable to imagine she would soon have found Kieman.
What gave Lawrence pause was a more rational premonition entirely. Or else his merchant's instincts had come to a different conclusion on their own, quite separately from reason or logic.
In that instant, Lawrence understood what Fran was trying to say.
"He said you fear no god, you seize opportunities for profit, and you use your connections with skill." Fran wiped her tears and tried without success to smile a bold smile. Her failure to do so only made her seem more desperate.
Lawrence had to ask, praying he had guessed wrong.
"What is it you would have me do?"
"Please tell them that Katerina Lucci is a saint."
Lawrence could understand why Col and Holo would look so dubious.
Religious strategies of any sort were becoming impossible. So why would she fixate on that? Surely both Col and Holo were wondering as much—but not Lawrence.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "I'm impressed with their lack of scruples."
"You mean—" Lawrence said, but before he could even finish the question, Fran continued.
"They've come here to make Katerina no more."
In that instant, Lawrence understood their goal.
Katerina was already dead, so Fran's words took on a more literal meaning.
"I suppose you could say we're in an age of money, where things like Church or pagan no longer matter." It was a good line. Fran chuckled blackly through her anger at the joke and then sighed. "I'd come so far...and now the landlord decides to act? I was so close...so, so close...," she said, frustrated, the sound of her clenching fists audible even beneath her robe.
Having been cast about between the Church and the pagans, the landlord had chosen a third option. Seeing the visible decline of Church power, he had surely grown sick of being used by them. He would erase every trace of Katerina, distancing himself from religious conflicts and never bothering to clear her name.
Moreover, he would construct a water mill, and in conjunction with a new northern campaign incited by the Debau Company, he would use the mill's power to attract craftsmen and workers—for in the face of money, what could the Church or the pagans say?
"Did you get the map?" Fran looked up, almost glaring at Lawrence.
"I did...but please, wait a moment."
Fran started to step forward, but Lawrence stopped her, giving her a look that was every bit as serious as the one she wore.
"Please calm down. If the landlord has decided to destroy all traces of Katerina, then our presence is an obstacle. Arguing with him will be impossible, and he's hardly likely to let you continue to investigate the legend of the angel."
Fran's face contorted at Lawrence's words. The girl was no fool. Even in anger, she was just as clever as she had always been.
"I know the legend was right in front of you. And I know you didn't come here on some whim. But it's too dangerous.
"We must flee."
When Lawrence said the words, Fran flinched as though physically struck by them, taking one step back, then another. He could understand Col hurrying to her side to support her. Had he failed to do so, she would have fallen to the ground.
"...No...I can't...I was so close..."
It was so recently that she had been delighted, unable to contain her excitement as she jumped into the cottage. And now her despair was proportional to her anticipation, too heavy to bear.
Holo's face was pained, and she said nothing.
If they were going to run, they would have to do so now, while the soldiers had briefly retreated.
"I'm sorry, but...," Lawrence started, and he tried to take Fran's hand. But then—
"Lud Kieman told me about you."
Lawrence was at a loss for words, partially because he did not understand what she meant. But it was not because suddenly hearing Kieman's name felt like she had correctly guessed something that should have been a secret. If she was going to partner with Lawrence and his companions, a simple investigation would have led her to Kerube, where it was reasonable to imagine she would soon have found Kieman.
What gave Lawrence pause was a more rational premonition entirely. Or else his merchant's instincts had come to a different conclusion on their own, quite separately from reason or logic.
In that instant, Lawrence understood what Fran was trying to say.
"He said you fear no god, you seize opportunities for profit, and you use your connections with skill." Fran wiped her tears and tried without success to smile a bold smile. Her failure to do so only made her seem more desperate.
Lawrence had to ask, praying he had guessed wrong.
"What is it you would have me do?"
"Please tell them that Katerina Lucci is a saint."
Lawrence could understand why Col and Holo would look so dubious.
Religious strategies of any sort were becoming impossible. So why would she fixate on that? Surely both Col and Holo were wondering as much—but not Lawrence.
| "That can't be..."
"Her candidacy for canonization has been submitted. They hid their identities in Lenos, but she had many among the nobility that supported her. The petition for her canonization to the pontiff has been submitted and even now is on the desk of the cardinalate. What do you think?"
When she finished speaking, Fran closed her mouth, as though her mind was entirely made up. And it was true—what she said carried weight.
Fran, the dauntless, lonely silversmith. She had made an irritatingly pragmatic decision in perfect keeping with her reputation.
Lawrence swallowed. "When Sister Katerina becomes Saint Katerina, everything in that cottage, including her body, will become holy relics."
At the words holy relics, Col raised his voice in a surprised "Ah!"
That seemed to be the signal for Fran to finally succeed at smiling a thin, faint smile. "When the landlord learns how much holy relics can be worth, he'll give up on the water mill. If you doubt me, let's go back to the cottage and look at her diary. It's filled with the names and details of lords from many different lands. Even the fact that the cottage has been left alone is probably because the canonization proceedings were stalled."
It was the sort of thing that Lawrence had only ever heard in rumors.
When someone was canonized as a saint, anything connected to their person could for whatever reason be sold for huge amounts of money. If they were reputed to have performed miracles, then pilgrims would come, and not just from the Church, but also the surrounding region. Noblemen would sometimes band together in order to get clergy from their area canonized, but the application required an extravagant amount of money.
From the perspective of the nobility, it was a large gamble involving their happiness in the afterlife against their wealth while they still lived.
It was said that many had gone bankrupt trying to accomplish it, and yet it kept being tried because the potential gains were enormous.
Katerina Lucci was destined to be dragged into someone's scheme.
"So you want me to sell...a saint?"
"I have heard that you're experienced in business." She smiled the same smile she had used at Hugues's shop when she claimed a map of the north would cost him fifty lumione. But this time, he could not let it go.
Lawrence delivered his reply. "This is madness. There is no way a merchant like me can handle holy relics. Even if I passed myself off as one, it would last but a moment. With the narwhal in Kerube, it was Kieman who handled the bulk of the exchange, along with another merchant who was former nobility. And in Winfiel, I was on the edges of a deal involving a holy relic, but to be blunt, it wasn't on a scale that involved me."
Money was not something that just accumulated. Its quality and nature could change from one moment to another. From an amount that could purchase a good to an amount that could purchase a person's heart to one that could change a person's destiny.
A holy relic was in that same company.
But Fran never took her gaze from Lawrence, and standing her ground, she played her final trump card. "In exchange, I'll draw you a map of the northlands. Right away, if you like."
A moment passed.
"...What?" he replied out of simple shock.
It was as though she felt it was entirely fair to offer a simple map in return for him fabricating a saint and undertaking the dangerous business of dealing in holy relics constructed from lies.
Fran looked at him evenly.
"Do you truly believe that's a fair trade?" Lawrence could not help asking.
In that moment, Fran's face was somehow charming. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him, as though she might reply at any moment, "I do indeed!"
But unlike when Lawrence had told her about the villagers who had come to the cottage, something else poured into her expression, replacing her fading surprise.
That brown skin and those black eyes.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "That can't be..."
"Her candidacy for canonization has been submitted. They hid their identities in Lenos, but she had many among the nobility that supported her. The petition for her canonization to the pontiff has been submitted and even now is on the desk of the cardinalate. What do you think?"
When she finished speaking, Fran closed her mouth, as though her mind was entirely made up. And it was true—what she said carried weight.
Fran, the dauntless, lonely silversmith. She had made an irritatingly pragmatic decision in perfect keeping with her reputation.
Lawrence swallowed. "When Sister Katerina becomes Saint Katerina, everything in that cottage, including her body, will become holy relics."
At the words holy relics, Col raised his voice in a surprised "Ah!"
That seemed to be the signal for Fran to finally succeed at smiling a thin, faint smile. "When the landlord learns how much holy relics can be worth, he'll give up on the water mill. If you doubt me, let's go back to the cottage and look at her diary. It's filled with the names and details of lords from many different lands. Even the fact that the cottage has been left alone is probably because the canonization proceedings were stalled."
It was the sort of thing that Lawrence had only ever heard in rumors.
When someone was canonized as a saint, anything connected to their person could for whatever reason be sold for huge amounts of money. If they were reputed to have performed miracles, then pilgrims would come, and not just from the Church, but also the surrounding region. Noblemen would sometimes band together in order to get clergy from their area canonized, but the application required an extravagant amount of money.
From the perspective of the nobility, it was a large gamble involving their happiness in the afterlife against their wealth while they still lived.
It was said that many had gone bankrupt trying to accomplish it, and yet it kept being tried because the potential gains were enormous.
Katerina Lucci was destined to be dragged into someone's scheme.
"So you want me to sell...a saint?"
"I have heard that you're experienced in business." She smiled the same smile she had used at Hugues's shop when she claimed a map of the north would cost him fifty lumione. But this time, he could not let it go.
Lawrence delivered his reply. "This is madness. There is no way a merchant like me can handle holy relics. Even if I passed myself off as one, it would last but a moment. With the narwhal in Kerube, it was Kieman who handled the bulk of the exchange, along with another merchant who was former nobility. And in Winfiel, I was on the edges of a deal involving a holy relic, but to be blunt, it wasn't on a scale that involved me."
Money was not something that just accumulated. Its quality and nature could change from one moment to another. From an amount that could purchase a good to an amount that could purchase a person's heart to one that could change a person's destiny.
A holy relic was in that same company.
But Fran never took her gaze from Lawrence, and standing her ground, she played her final trump card. "In exchange, I'll draw you a map of the northlands. Right away, if you like."
A moment passed.
"...What?" he replied out of simple shock.
It was as though she felt it was entirely fair to offer a simple map in return for him fabricating a saint and undertaking the dangerous business of dealing in holy relics constructed from lies.
Fran looked at him evenly.
"Do you truly believe that's a fair trade?" Lawrence could not help asking.
In that moment, Fran's face was somehow charming. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him, as though she might reply at any moment, "I do indeed!"
But unlike when Lawrence had told her about the villagers who had come to the cottage, something else poured into her expression, replacing her fading surprise.
That brown skin and those black eyes.
| Lawrence glanced over at Holo.
Holo was expressionless, staring at Fran, while Col was obviously distraught.
If it had only been about the danger, then of course he could have taken the risk. But to take Katerina, who had already endured being called a witch, and to now claim she was a saint and sell her off to some landlord was flatly impossible.
After doing such a thing, how could Lawrence then take Holo's hand with a clean conscience?
"To falsely approach the landlord and then negotiate with him on the pretenses of selling a saint? I cannot do it."
"I see," said Fran and began to walk away.
Lawrence did not move. So smooth was her motion that after she passed by Lawrence, she held in her hand the map that he had previously tucked near his breast.
"Where are you going?" He knew it was a stupid question, but could not help asking.
Fran stopped as though mulling something over, then came slowly walking back. "You got Hugues to talk to you, so I thought you were made of sterner stuff."
He thought back to how Hugues had endured Fran's haughty treatment. His first, biggest priority was to have Fran create paintings of his homeland. And it was true, Lawrence had convinced Hugues to talk.
Fran continued. "I thought you were the same as me. But I was wrong."
"What do you—" Mean, Lawrence was going to finish, but he did not have the chance.
"Do you think you're going to get a map of the north with only that much resolve?"
***
Lawrence felt as though he had been stabbed through the heart. Fran started walking again.
His feet refused to move; they felt sewn in place. He could not even think. He felt as though they had all been playing some kind of prank, and she had just dumped freezing water on them.
Why not just say it, plain and simple: To what lengths was he willing to go to find a map of the northlands? His resolve was insignificant.
He wanted to travel with Holo. It was a lukewarm promise they had made to each other, not to give up. Chasing after the wolf bones and tracking down a map of the northlands, these were not meaningless things. Taken individually, they could not be overlooked.
But as to what sort of foundation they made when taken as a whole—he understood that all too well. It was the simple, childish wish to simply stay with Holo. And only a very meager tower could be built upon such a foundation.
Lawrence knew that, but to have it so clearly pointed out made him feel deeply wretched.
He was standing there, nailed to the ground, when Holo took his hand. "She certainly hit you hard."
He looked at her, and her eyes seemed almost relieved, like a girl whose mischief had been uncovered.
"But do you suppose she truly plans to sell that dried-out, old thing?"
Impossible, Lawrence immediately thought.
In which case, the course of events was obvious. Holo's eyes said as much as they admonished Lawrence.
Holo's righteous anger had been roused before, to say nothing of when it was for the sake of helpless villagers.
But he was not thinking to use Katerina for their own aims after she had died following a lifetime of abuse at the hands of the villagers and the landlord.
So many regrets remained. And yet he could not approve Fran's proposal. In the worst-case scenario, he could end up killed to keep things quiet.
"We should run," said Lawrence, and Holo nodded.
It was Col who raised his voice, having listened carefully to the conversation. "We're going to leave Fran behind?"
Lawrence and Holo exchanged a look. There was no argument about Fran's importance.
"Once we've escaped to a safer place, we can ask Holo or even Hugues for help. We'll make sure she's safe. There are many people who need Miss Fran, after all."
No one was going to let her die pointlessly.
But Col seemed on the verge of tears. "No, I mean...are you giving up on the legend of the angel that Miss Fran was chasing?"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Lawrence glanced over at Holo.
Holo was expressionless, staring at Fran, while Col was obviously distraught.
If it had only been about the danger, then of course he could have taken the risk. But to take Katerina, who had already endured being called a witch, and to now claim she was a saint and sell her off to some landlord was flatly impossible.
After doing such a thing, how could Lawrence then take Holo's hand with a clean conscience?
"To falsely approach the landlord and then negotiate with him on the pretenses of selling a saint? I cannot do it."
"I see," said Fran and began to walk away.
Lawrence did not move. So smooth was her motion that after she passed by Lawrence, she held in her hand the map that he had previously tucked near his breast.
"Where are you going?" He knew it was a stupid question, but could not help asking.
Fran stopped as though mulling something over, then came slowly walking back. "You got Hugues to talk to you, so I thought you were made of sterner stuff."
He thought back to how Hugues had endured Fran's haughty treatment. His first, biggest priority was to have Fran create paintings of his homeland. And it was true, Lawrence had convinced Hugues to talk.
Fran continued. "I thought you were the same as me. But I was wrong."
"What do you—" Mean, Lawrence was going to finish, but he did not have the chance.
"Do you think you're going to get a map of the north with only that much resolve?"
***
Lawrence felt as though he had been stabbed through the heart. Fran started walking again.
His feet refused to move; they felt sewn in place. He could not even think. He felt as though they had all been playing some kind of prank, and she had just dumped freezing water on them.
Why not just say it, plain and simple: To what lengths was he willing to go to find a map of the northlands? His resolve was insignificant.
He wanted to travel with Holo. It was a lukewarm promise they had made to each other, not to give up. Chasing after the wolf bones and tracking down a map of the northlands, these were not meaningless things. Taken individually, they could not be overlooked.
But as to what sort of foundation they made when taken as a whole—he understood that all too well. It was the simple, childish wish to simply stay with Holo. And only a very meager tower could be built upon such a foundation.
Lawrence knew that, but to have it so clearly pointed out made him feel deeply wretched.
He was standing there, nailed to the ground, when Holo took his hand. "She certainly hit you hard."
He looked at her, and her eyes seemed almost relieved, like a girl whose mischief had been uncovered.
"But do you suppose she truly plans to sell that dried-out, old thing?"
Impossible, Lawrence immediately thought.
In which case, the course of events was obvious. Holo's eyes said as much as they admonished Lawrence.
Holo's righteous anger had been roused before, to say nothing of when it was for the sake of helpless villagers.
But he was not thinking to use Katerina for their own aims after she had died following a lifetime of abuse at the hands of the villagers and the landlord.
So many regrets remained. And yet he could not approve Fran's proposal. In the worst-case scenario, he could end up killed to keep things quiet.
"We should run," said Lawrence, and Holo nodded.
It was Col who raised his voice, having listened carefully to the conversation. "We're going to leave Fran behind?"
Lawrence and Holo exchanged a look. There was no argument about Fran's importance.
"Once we've escaped to a safer place, we can ask Holo or even Hugues for help. We'll make sure she's safe. There are many people who need Miss Fran, after all."
No one was going to let her die pointlessly.
But Col seemed on the verge of tears. "No, I mean...are you giving up on the legend of the angel that Miss Fran was chasing?"
| Had Col not heard Fran's goal? Had she not confided in him the reason why she was so determined to claim Katerina's sainthood and deceive the landlord?
Lawrence was just about to explain how unreasonable it would be to take the risk of chasing the legend now—but bit the words back because of a book.
Col, nearly crying now, thrust a single volume at him. "I know I forced myself off on you and Miss Holo, Mr. Lawrence, but I just can't abandon Miss Fran like this," he said, and handing the book to Lawrence, he shouldered his pack and set off after her.
Lawrence never even had a chance to say anything.
Col was a kind, gentle boy. If Fran's quest was a sincerely felt one, then once he heard her reason, he could not help but be moved by it, Lawrence assumed.
But his assumption was soon scattered to the wind.
The book Col had handed Lawrence—from the writing on its cover, he could tell that it was a book of scripture.
Lawrence's face stiffened, but not because he had just had a holy book shoved at him. It was because the cover of the book was discolored by large bloodstains.
"What's that?" Holo asked, bringing Lawrence back to his senses.
"Seems to be a book of scriptures..." Lawrence gently opened the book. The pages' edges were torn here and there, and some were stuck together with blood. It didn't seem like overstatement to say it had been through the hell of war.
Then Lawrence noticed there were several folded pieces of paper stuck between the pages of the book. He opened them and saw the terse notes there, written in needle-sharp handwriting.
"Dear Kira...vai...en...Kirjavainen Mercenary Troop?"
There, on a piece of paper between the pages of a bloodstained scripture book, was written the name of a mercenary band. Lawrence brushed the soot away and looked more closely, reading the writing there. Next to the band's name, there was another name, the addressee of the letter.
"Fran...Vonely."
It had come from the pack Col had carried in Fran's place, so it was not surprising he had been carrying something that was addressed to her. Lawrence found himself murmuring her name, because in front of it was also written a title.
"Troop Chaplain, Fran Vonely."
The moment he saw those words, Lawrence felt a great shock, as though he had been struck on the head with an iron rod. He did not even hear Holo trying to get his attention as he paged through the letter.
The characters were blurred in places and smeared with blood, soot, and grime, sometimes too badly to be read. But Lawrence could tell that it had been written by someone in the Kirjavainen mercenary troop—and by someone who was far away from Fran. At the top of the second page, the scribe had written, "May they reach your prayers from this far-off land," followed by a simple list of facts, all in a peculiar hand.
"Decurion Martin Ghurkas killed in the battle of Lydion."
"Betrayed on the Lavan plains. Pursued by the soldiers of Marquis Lizzo. Cursed by God. Lienne the sutler died that night of injuries. He went in his sleep and left no will."
"Heimann Rosso, the centurion who'd been sheltered by the count, was betrayed and arrested. He passed in the dungeon in fine form and was always worried about you."
And then, the last piece of paper.
"In the town of Miligua in the Nacculi diocese, in the month of Saint Rafenne, executed by hanging. A last message for you was 'I'll see the angel before you...'"
The last page was badly crumpled, and there was more written, but it was so thoroughly blurred that it was not legible.
Lawrence stood there silently, and when he finally spoke, it was a simple, low "Ah" of understanding.
Young but trusted by nobility. Used to hard physical labor. Bold and fearless as a mountain bandit. And for all that, still graceful and refined.
Kieman had said she was a silversmith born on the battlefield. Fran herself had told Hugues she had been a slave—and those two meanings now connected.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Had Col not heard Fran's goal? Had she not confided in him the reason why she was so determined to claim Katerina's sainthood and deceive the landlord?
Lawrence was just about to explain how unreasonable it would be to take the risk of chasing the legend now—but bit the words back because of a book.
Col, nearly crying now, thrust a single volume at him. "I know I forced myself off on you and Miss Holo, Mr. Lawrence, but I just can't abandon Miss Fran like this," he said, and handing the book to Lawrence, he shouldered his pack and set off after her.
Lawrence never even had a chance to say anything.
Col was a kind, gentle boy. If Fran's quest was a sincerely felt one, then once he heard her reason, he could not help but be moved by it, Lawrence assumed.
But his assumption was soon scattered to the wind.
The book Col had handed Lawrence—from the writing on its cover, he could tell that it was a book of scripture.
Lawrence's face stiffened, but not because he had just had a holy book shoved at him. It was because the cover of the book was discolored by large bloodstains.
"What's that?" Holo asked, bringing Lawrence back to his senses.
"Seems to be a book of scriptures..." Lawrence gently opened the book. The pages' edges were torn here and there, and some were stuck together with blood. It didn't seem like overstatement to say it had been through the hell of war.
Then Lawrence noticed there were several folded pieces of paper stuck between the pages of the book. He opened them and saw the terse notes there, written in needle-sharp handwriting.
"Dear Kira...vai...en...Kirjavainen Mercenary Troop?"
There, on a piece of paper between the pages of a bloodstained scripture book, was written the name of a mercenary band. Lawrence brushed the soot away and looked more closely, reading the writing there. Next to the band's name, there was another name, the addressee of the letter.
"Fran...Vonely."
It had come from the pack Col had carried in Fran's place, so it was not surprising he had been carrying something that was addressed to her. Lawrence found himself murmuring her name, because in front of it was also written a title.
"Troop Chaplain, Fran Vonely."
The moment he saw those words, Lawrence felt a great shock, as though he had been struck on the head with an iron rod. He did not even hear Holo trying to get his attention as he paged through the letter.
The characters were blurred in places and smeared with blood, soot, and grime, sometimes too badly to be read. But Lawrence could tell that it had been written by someone in the Kirjavainen mercenary troop—and by someone who was far away from Fran. At the top of the second page, the scribe had written, "May they reach your prayers from this far-off land," followed by a simple list of facts, all in a peculiar hand.
"Decurion Martin Ghurkas killed in the battle of Lydion."
"Betrayed on the Lavan plains. Pursued by the soldiers of Marquis Lizzo. Cursed by God. Lienne the sutler died that night of injuries. He went in his sleep and left no will."
"Heimann Rosso, the centurion who'd been sheltered by the count, was betrayed and arrested. He passed in the dungeon in fine form and was always worried about you."
And then, the last piece of paper.
"In the town of Miligua in the Nacculi diocese, in the month of Saint Rafenne, executed by hanging. A last message for you was 'I'll see the angel before you...'"
The last page was badly crumpled, and there was more written, but it was so thoroughly blurred that it was not legible.
Lawrence stood there silently, and when he finally spoke, it was a simple, low "Ah" of understanding.
Young but trusted by nobility. Used to hard physical labor. Bold and fearless as a mountain bandit. And for all that, still graceful and refined.
Kieman had said she was a silversmith born on the battlefield. Fran herself had told Hugues she had been a slave—and those two meanings now connected.
| Given all that, Fran's reason for seeking out the legend of the angel must have naturally changed. The last piece of paper was wrinkled, the writing blurred—and it pointed to one thing.
The dear friend of whom Fran had spoken had been the centurion that was hung.
He had only to recall the legend of the angel. The doors to the heavens were flung open, and the angel ascended.
He had been looking for a special meaning in those words, but all that was needed were the words themselves.
There were countless stories of the misery that was life in the latter days of a mercenary troop. For Fran to have lived through it meant she passed through that hell. The words "from this far-off land" betrayed that much.
And it was just as Hugues had said. Those with teeth and claws are the first to die.
The troop chaplain could do nothing but pray. And since prayers did nothing to stop a sword, they were spared participation in battle.
And so Fran had lived.
"Come, you."
Holo's words brought Lawrence out of his reverie, but she said nothing more.
"Sorry."
She could probably guess what he was going to say next just by his expression. A wind blew from downriver, skimming along the surface of the waning flow, through the space between Lawrence and Holo and up into the forest, taking some snow with it as it went.
"Can we not help her?" Lawrence said simply.
Instead of replying, Holo held out her hand as if asking for the scripture book.
"So?" she said, looking up after she finished reading the letters and the scriptures.
She might not have worked out the details, but she probably understood the larger plan. After all, Col had expressed his own opinion for once and had gone chasing after Fran. That alone was not something they could ignore.
"I know all I've got is my cheap sympathy."
"So why, then?"
Lawrence smiled in response, but not because he was trying to fake it. What he had to say was simply embarrassing.
Holo glared at him dubiously and grabbed his ear. But Lawrence's smile remained. His thoughts were just that foolish.
"I was just thinking that it would be nice if the world were a gentler place."
Holo did not let him go.
Lawrence's eyes remained on her.
"I was thinking how lovely it would be if things would go just a little more smoothly. How nice it would be to get past reality and common sense. Something like that."
Fran's mercenary troop had been unable to avoid reality. Fran had lived on, and Lawrence could not imagine that she truly believed she could find the miracle that had so eluded her comrades.
A water mill would be constructed, and if her luck was bad, Fran would be killed. And even if things did not go that way, comparing those who had died to those who had lived still showed the truth of the world. Any child who had been beaten for misbehaving knew that much.
But Katerina had contented herself with being called a witch, with being reviled, abiding in that cottage with nothing but her faith, all to glimpse a legend that common sense dictated she would surely not see.
She concerned herself with neither cheap sympathy nor false miracles.
The world had its kinder moments. That was what she had believed.
"You truly are a fool." Holo made a baffled face and sighed a deep sigh. She let go of his ear as though she could no longer stand to go along with such a fool. But with her other hand, she curled her little finger around Lawrence's ring finger. "You know the world really isn't that happy a place?"
Holo was a wisewolf. She could see right through the silly notions of her companion.
"I know. Still—"
"Still, what?"
If he answered wrongly, she might leave him right then and there—or so he would have thought until quite recently.
Lawrence took Holo's hand and drew her close. "Don't you want to help this stubborn girl, with her painful past and a goal she can't give up?"
Holo bared her fangs. They were very white. "If you fail, I won't forgive you."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Given all that, Fran's reason for seeking out the legend of the angel must have naturally changed. The last piece of paper was wrinkled, the writing blurred—and it pointed to one thing.
The dear friend of whom Fran had spoken had been the centurion that was hung.
He had only to recall the legend of the angel. The doors to the heavens were flung open, and the angel ascended.
He had been looking for a special meaning in those words, but all that was needed were the words themselves.
There were countless stories of the misery that was life in the latter days of a mercenary troop. For Fran to have lived through it meant she passed through that hell. The words "from this far-off land" betrayed that much.
And it was just as Hugues had said. Those with teeth and claws are the first to die.
The troop chaplain could do nothing but pray. And since prayers did nothing to stop a sword, they were spared participation in battle.
And so Fran had lived.
"Come, you."
Holo's words brought Lawrence out of his reverie, but she said nothing more.
"Sorry."
She could probably guess what he was going to say next just by his expression. A wind blew from downriver, skimming along the surface of the waning flow, through the space between Lawrence and Holo and up into the forest, taking some snow with it as it went.
"Can we not help her?" Lawrence said simply.
Instead of replying, Holo held out her hand as if asking for the scripture book.
"So?" she said, looking up after she finished reading the letters and the scriptures.
She might not have worked out the details, but she probably understood the larger plan. After all, Col had expressed his own opinion for once and had gone chasing after Fran. That alone was not something they could ignore.
"I know all I've got is my cheap sympathy."
"So why, then?"
Lawrence smiled in response, but not because he was trying to fake it. What he had to say was simply embarrassing.
Holo glared at him dubiously and grabbed his ear. But Lawrence's smile remained. His thoughts were just that foolish.
"I was just thinking that it would be nice if the world were a gentler place."
Holo did not let him go.
Lawrence's eyes remained on her.
"I was thinking how lovely it would be if things would go just a little more smoothly. How nice it would be to get past reality and common sense. Something like that."
Fran's mercenary troop had been unable to avoid reality. Fran had lived on, and Lawrence could not imagine that she truly believed she could find the miracle that had so eluded her comrades.
A water mill would be constructed, and if her luck was bad, Fran would be killed. And even if things did not go that way, comparing those who had died to those who had lived still showed the truth of the world. Any child who had been beaten for misbehaving knew that much.
But Katerina had contented herself with being called a witch, with being reviled, abiding in that cottage with nothing but her faith, all to glimpse a legend that common sense dictated she would surely not see.
She concerned herself with neither cheap sympathy nor false miracles.
The world had its kinder moments. That was what she had believed.
"You truly are a fool." Holo made a baffled face and sighed a deep sigh. She let go of his ear as though she could no longer stand to go along with such a fool. But with her other hand, she curled her little finger around Lawrence's ring finger. "You know the world really isn't that happy a place?"
Holo was a wisewolf. She could see right through the silly notions of her companion.
"I know. Still—"
"Still, what?"
If he answered wrongly, she might leave him right then and there—or so he would have thought until quite recently.
Lawrence took Holo's hand and drew her close. "Don't you want to help this stubborn girl, with her painful past and a goal she can't give up?"
Holo bared her fangs. They were very white. "If you fail, I won't forgive you."
| "But what exactly do you plan to do?" Holo finally gave in and asked as they made their way back to the cottage.
"Nothing too difficult. I'm just going to refer to Katerina as a saint."
"...So you'll sell her?"
"No. Not at all—all I have to say is that we've been employed for the service of confirming her application for canonization."
That implied nothing less than that the powerful figures responsible for canonization decisions were paying attention to this region. If Lawrence and his companions met with an unnatural accident or if mysterious action was taken against the villagers, the landlord would immediately find himself in serious trouble.
"But even the most foolish lord would investigate the matter, especially if he's a coward. Even if she is being considered for canonization, he'll soon discover that we've nothing to do with that. So what would that possibly...?" Holo said but trailed off as she realized.
Her displeased expression was just as Lawrence predicted.
"I did say I needed your help, didn't I?"
"...I thought you meant my knowledge," grumbled Holo, her lips twisted in a sneer. But she said nothing further.
"In the legend of the angel, it's said that there was the howl of a great beast. If you'll lend your help, it'll be simple to put on a show that will prove Katerina's sainthood beyond any doubt."
"Mm."
"The truth is that Katerina's canonization proceedings have stalled. So long as the Church doesn't publicly confirm her sainthood, there will be no financial incentives in the form of valuable holy relics. And if there's nothing of value, how could I sell it?"
"A rather makeshift plan, if you ask me," Holo interjected, unamused.
"You could at least call it 'cunning.'"
Holo sighed, as though to say they were one and the same.
"So all we need to do is tell the landlord as much. As money and faith are intertwined, if rumors start to spread, it won't do him any good, we'll say."
For a landlord trapped between the Church and the pagans, this would constitute a strong argument indeed. He ought to stay as quiet as a well-trained hound.
Of course, there was no telling whether they would be able to hold the landlord off for long. But Lawrence was sure this would buy them enough time.
Enough for Fran to be able to give up on the angel legend, anyway.
"Well, I suppose it's better than turning tail and running away," said Holo, tossing another piece of firewood onto the cottage's hearth.
Katerina Lucci was one step away from being publicly declared a saint by the Church.
Her diary was less a diary than it was a simple record of her daily activities. But that was more than enough to come to understand the person Katerina had been and the circumstances in which she had lived.
She had been consulted by an archbishop whose name was known even to Lawrence, as well as a noblewoman and a wealthy merchant. She spent her days replying to such correspondence, as well as studying topics of concern to the Church and translating the scriptures and copying important documents.
Those activities alone were evidence of a serene and pious life, but in her diary, Katerina had also recorded some of her innermost thoughts.
She had turned over her translation of the scriptures to a bishop upon receiving his request to do so, but when the lending period had ended, he had refused to return it. A book merchant had held her manuscript against her will in exchange for money. The Church council had deemed theology not a subject suitable for women to consider, and she had been forced to write under a false name.
But the greatest revelations were the letters from the many powerful figures who had heard of her reputation and written her for advice. Though the archbishop's letter was phrased in all sorts of complicated religious language, the ridiculous gist was that he was constantly being invited to this or that nobleman's banquet and eating to excess, and he wanted to know what he should do.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "But what exactly do you plan to do?" Holo finally gave in and asked as they made their way back to the cottage.
"Nothing too difficult. I'm just going to refer to Katerina as a saint."
"...So you'll sell her?"
"No. Not at all—all I have to say is that we've been employed for the service of confirming her application for canonization."
That implied nothing less than that the powerful figures responsible for canonization decisions were paying attention to this region. If Lawrence and his companions met with an unnatural accident or if mysterious action was taken against the villagers, the landlord would immediately find himself in serious trouble.
"But even the most foolish lord would investigate the matter, especially if he's a coward. Even if she is being considered for canonization, he'll soon discover that we've nothing to do with that. So what would that possibly...?" Holo said but trailed off as she realized.
Her displeased expression was just as Lawrence predicted.
"I did say I needed your help, didn't I?"
"...I thought you meant my knowledge," grumbled Holo, her lips twisted in a sneer. But she said nothing further.
"In the legend of the angel, it's said that there was the howl of a great beast. If you'll lend your help, it'll be simple to put on a show that will prove Katerina's sainthood beyond any doubt."
"Mm."
"The truth is that Katerina's canonization proceedings have stalled. So long as the Church doesn't publicly confirm her sainthood, there will be no financial incentives in the form of valuable holy relics. And if there's nothing of value, how could I sell it?"
"A rather makeshift plan, if you ask me," Holo interjected, unamused.
"You could at least call it 'cunning.'"
Holo sighed, as though to say they were one and the same.
"So all we need to do is tell the landlord as much. As money and faith are intertwined, if rumors start to spread, it won't do him any good, we'll say."
For a landlord trapped between the Church and the pagans, this would constitute a strong argument indeed. He ought to stay as quiet as a well-trained hound.
Of course, there was no telling whether they would be able to hold the landlord off for long. But Lawrence was sure this would buy them enough time.
Enough for Fran to be able to give up on the angel legend, anyway.
"Well, I suppose it's better than turning tail and running away," said Holo, tossing another piece of firewood onto the cottage's hearth.
Katerina Lucci was one step away from being publicly declared a saint by the Church.
Her diary was less a diary than it was a simple record of her daily activities. But that was more than enough to come to understand the person Katerina had been and the circumstances in which she had lived.
She had been consulted by an archbishop whose name was known even to Lawrence, as well as a noblewoman and a wealthy merchant. She spent her days replying to such correspondence, as well as studying topics of concern to the Church and translating the scriptures and copying important documents.
Those activities alone were evidence of a serene and pious life, but in her diary, Katerina had also recorded some of her innermost thoughts.
She had turned over her translation of the scriptures to a bishop upon receiving his request to do so, but when the lending period had ended, he had refused to return it. A book merchant had held her manuscript against her will in exchange for money. The Church council had deemed theology not a subject suitable for women to consider, and she had been forced to write under a false name.
But the greatest revelations were the letters from the many powerful figures who had heard of her reputation and written her for advice. Though the archbishop's letter was phrased in all sorts of complicated religious language, the ridiculous gist was that he was constantly being invited to this or that nobleman's banquet and eating to excess, and he wanted to know what he should do.
| The wealthy merchant very directly posed the question of exactly how much he would need to give to the poor in order to assure his own entrance into heaven.
Katerina replied seriously and conscientiously to every letter she received, and some of her drafts remained. However, in between her replies to these absurd questions were written short sentences, apparently to herself. Are these trials God has sent to test me? she wondered. They wrung distress from this nun, who was only trying to deepen her faith.
It seemed that the process for canonization had taken place entirely outside of Katerina's participation. She had written many times attempting to decline, but the letters that came back only showed growing support and that sainthood was close.
As Lawrence committed to memory the names and doings of the many powerful people in the letters, he felt progressively worse and worse.
It was written in the diary that a representative of the village had come to her one day and, having explained the circumstances to her, asked for permission to begin calling her a witch.
Katerina had sympathized with the villagers and had agreed, as long as she would be the only one to suffer the consequences. Just as Fran had said, she had lamented the weakness of humans, writing in a tangled and distraught hand.
And then suddenly, the diary became much more diary-like. She wrote of the changing seasons, of her dogs, and later their puppies. When she had to hunt birds, she asked God's forgiveness for doing so. So her diary went.
Meanwhile, letters from nobles continued to come, but no evidence remained of her replies. She had even ceased to write about the condition of the villagers.
Lawrence wondered if she had freed herself of their burdens, realizing that her own faith could not change them, nor could it change the world.
Toward the end, her diary seemed filled with pleasant, joyful things. Lawrence slowly closed it. It was beginning to grow dim outside, and the sun would soon set.
He added a log to the hearth and went past the skin partition into the back room. Holo wanted to check the bookshelves for anything else that might be of use, but upon reaching the room, Holo opened a wooden window there and gazed out of it.
Katerina seemed to be sitting in the chair, and for a moment it seemed that she and Holo were looking out the window together.
"I can see the falls," Holo murmured. "'Tis a good view."
Drawn over by her words, Lawrence stood behind Holo and looked out the window. He could indeed see the waterfall past the trees. Looking opposite the waterfall, there was a small space that seemed to have been plucked free of underbrush and was covered in a layer of snow.
It wasn't hard to imagine it being a flower garden, perhaps.
"She might have just sat down here and closed her eyes for an afternoon nap," said Holo, and she poked Katerina's head very lightly.
One might reasonably conclude from her diary that she had indeed had such a lovely last moment. Lawrence smiled a sad smile, and Holo put her hand to the window. "The wind's gotten cold," she said and closed it tight.
Holo wasn't usually the type to close a window. Perhaps she was scared of continuing their conversation here.
Any conversation carried out in the presence of a body, no matter how happy the memories it might be regarding, would always end up sadly—all the more when the person in question, who had been called a nun, a saint, and both in life and death, was at the mercy of the whims of others.
Once she had closed the window, Holo returned to the room with the hearth. Lawrence followed, but could not help looking back over his shoulder once.
They might call the villagers or the landlord presumptuous, but he, too, was using Katerina's sainthood for his own purposes. But he decided not to think about it and followed after Holo.
A merchant chased profit and only profit. He held that indulgence, that excuse in his heart.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The wealthy merchant very directly posed the question of exactly how much he would need to give to the poor in order to assure his own entrance into heaven.
Katerina replied seriously and conscientiously to every letter she received, and some of her drafts remained. However, in between her replies to these absurd questions were written short sentences, apparently to herself. Are these trials God has sent to test me? she wondered. They wrung distress from this nun, who was only trying to deepen her faith.
It seemed that the process for canonization had taken place entirely outside of Katerina's participation. She had written many times attempting to decline, but the letters that came back only showed growing support and that sainthood was close.
As Lawrence committed to memory the names and doings of the many powerful people in the letters, he felt progressively worse and worse.
It was written in the diary that a representative of the village had come to her one day and, having explained the circumstances to her, asked for permission to begin calling her a witch.
Katerina had sympathized with the villagers and had agreed, as long as she would be the only one to suffer the consequences. Just as Fran had said, she had lamented the weakness of humans, writing in a tangled and distraught hand.
And then suddenly, the diary became much more diary-like. She wrote of the changing seasons, of her dogs, and later their puppies. When she had to hunt birds, she asked God's forgiveness for doing so. So her diary went.
Meanwhile, letters from nobles continued to come, but no evidence remained of her replies. She had even ceased to write about the condition of the villagers.
Lawrence wondered if she had freed herself of their burdens, realizing that her own faith could not change them, nor could it change the world.
Toward the end, her diary seemed filled with pleasant, joyful things. Lawrence slowly closed it. It was beginning to grow dim outside, and the sun would soon set.
He added a log to the hearth and went past the skin partition into the back room. Holo wanted to check the bookshelves for anything else that might be of use, but upon reaching the room, Holo opened a wooden window there and gazed out of it.
Katerina seemed to be sitting in the chair, and for a moment it seemed that she and Holo were looking out the window together.
"I can see the falls," Holo murmured. "'Tis a good view."
Drawn over by her words, Lawrence stood behind Holo and looked out the window. He could indeed see the waterfall past the trees. Looking opposite the waterfall, there was a small space that seemed to have been plucked free of underbrush and was covered in a layer of snow.
It wasn't hard to imagine it being a flower garden, perhaps.
"She might have just sat down here and closed her eyes for an afternoon nap," said Holo, and she poked Katerina's head very lightly.
One might reasonably conclude from her diary that she had indeed had such a lovely last moment. Lawrence smiled a sad smile, and Holo put her hand to the window. "The wind's gotten cold," she said and closed it tight.
Holo wasn't usually the type to close a window. Perhaps she was scared of continuing their conversation here.
Any conversation carried out in the presence of a body, no matter how happy the memories it might be regarding, would always end up sadly—all the more when the person in question, who had been called a nun, a saint, and both in life and death, was at the mercy of the whims of others.
Once she had closed the window, Holo returned to the room with the hearth. Lawrence followed, but could not help looking back over his shoulder once.
They might call the villagers or the landlord presumptuous, but he, too, was using Katerina's sainthood for his own purposes. But he decided not to think about it and followed after Holo.
A merchant chased profit and only profit. He held that indulgence, that excuse in his heart.
| Fran looked at Col and then back to Lawrence.
In his hand was her past and the present that continued from that past.
Fran's gaze dropped to the floor.
A merchant had to pursue profit at all times.
"You'll be drawing that map for us, then." Lawrence felt he could hear the sound of her fists clenching the fabric of her robe. "We have our own convictions, too, after all."
Fran nodded, still looking down. A droplet of water fell to the floor. "...I understand. I promise." She wiped the corner of her eyes and then looked up. "Thank you."
Lawrence smiled, accepting Fran's thanks, but his gaze was elsewhere.
The embers in the hearth collapsed, sending up a puff of sparks.
Lawrence's eyes were directed outside the cottage. "It's still a bit early for thank-yous."
Fran, having been a chaplain, seemed to understand what he meant. She nodded again and asked him the question directly. "What do you plan to do?"
"As before, you're a silversmith dispatched by the bishop, that should be fine. But as another goal, I'd like to add that we're here to confirm particulars regarding the canonization."
Fran seemed confused for a moment, but she was a clever girl. She soon realized Lawrence's aim and slowly nodded.
"I've no intention of selling Katerina off. Instead, I'll state that her canonization is ongoing, so that the landlord won't give us any trouble."
Fran nodded again and spoke more clearly this time. "Understood." The sound of distant hoofbeats could be heard. Fran wiped her tears again, holding close the bloodstained scripture book she had taken from Lawrence. "Let us go, then."
When she looked up, her face was firm and undaunted, the words she spoke worthy of the girl who had lived on the battlefield.
***
Consider the term high horse.
The old knight was on a literal high horse as he looked down at Lawrence, backlit by torches.
"You're the one they say came from Ruvinheigen?"
Had they decided to run, without Holo's aid they would probably have been caught by these knights somewhere on the road to town. Behind the old knight was a contingent of soldiers mostly comprised of farmers from the area wearing hastily thrown-on leather armor. It would not have been a good idea to attempt to escape into the night with them in pursuit.
From that perspective, waiting in the cottage was the right choice. But it was still unclear whether things would go well or not.
Just as they had discussed, Holo and Col were still in the cottage, with only Lawrence and Fran venturing out.
"That's right," Lawrence replied, and the old knight turned to his soldiers and gestured with his chin.
He had introduced himself as the landlord appointed governor, so Lawrence thought he might produce a document proving as much.
But instead what was thrust at Lawrence was the point of a spear.
"You saw nothing and heard nothing here. Or else you never came at all." If they did not understand his meaning, they did not value their own lives, he seemed to imply.
But if he had planned to kill them, he would not have bothered with a conversation. Lawrence calmly looked up at the governor.
"What's your answer?" The governor's tone did not waver. If they did as ordered, perhaps they would be allowed to leave. And whatever Lawrence and company might tell the Church after that, it would be after the fact. It would not be hard to keep their heads in the sand.
But if they defied the order...
They were in a forest. No one would answer their cries for help.
It did not take a clever merchant to arrive at the obvious course of action.
And yet this is how Lawrence answered.
"We have been sent by the bishop in order to render the legend of the angel in silverwork."
The governor's right eyelid twitched. "And you may tell them you failed in your goal. Ruvinheigen is very far from here. No one will doubt you."
"Yes, that is quite true."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Fran looked at Col and then back to Lawrence.
In his hand was her past and the present that continued from that past.
Fran's gaze dropped to the floor.
A merchant had to pursue profit at all times.
"You'll be drawing that map for us, then." Lawrence felt he could hear the sound of her fists clenching the fabric of her robe. "We have our own convictions, too, after all."
Fran nodded, still looking down. A droplet of water fell to the floor. "...I understand. I promise." She wiped the corner of her eyes and then looked up. "Thank you."
Lawrence smiled, accepting Fran's thanks, but his gaze was elsewhere.
The embers in the hearth collapsed, sending up a puff of sparks.
Lawrence's eyes were directed outside the cottage. "It's still a bit early for thank-yous."
Fran, having been a chaplain, seemed to understand what he meant. She nodded again and asked him the question directly. "What do you plan to do?"
"As before, you're a silversmith dispatched by the bishop, that should be fine. But as another goal, I'd like to add that we're here to confirm particulars regarding the canonization."
Fran seemed confused for a moment, but she was a clever girl. She soon realized Lawrence's aim and slowly nodded.
"I've no intention of selling Katerina off. Instead, I'll state that her canonization is ongoing, so that the landlord won't give us any trouble."
Fran nodded again and spoke more clearly this time. "Understood." The sound of distant hoofbeats could be heard. Fran wiped her tears again, holding close the bloodstained scripture book she had taken from Lawrence. "Let us go, then."
When she looked up, her face was firm and undaunted, the words she spoke worthy of the girl who had lived on the battlefield.
***
Consider the term high horse.
The old knight was on a literal high horse as he looked down at Lawrence, backlit by torches.
"You're the one they say came from Ruvinheigen?"
Had they decided to run, without Holo's aid they would probably have been caught by these knights somewhere on the road to town. Behind the old knight was a contingent of soldiers mostly comprised of farmers from the area wearing hastily thrown-on leather armor. It would not have been a good idea to attempt to escape into the night with them in pursuit.
From that perspective, waiting in the cottage was the right choice. But it was still unclear whether things would go well or not.
Just as they had discussed, Holo and Col were still in the cottage, with only Lawrence and Fran venturing out.
"That's right," Lawrence replied, and the old knight turned to his soldiers and gestured with his chin.
He had introduced himself as the landlord appointed governor, so Lawrence thought he might produce a document proving as much.
But instead what was thrust at Lawrence was the point of a spear.
"You saw nothing and heard nothing here. Or else you never came at all." If they did not understand his meaning, they did not value their own lives, he seemed to imply.
But if he had planned to kill them, he would not have bothered with a conversation. Lawrence calmly looked up at the governor.
"What's your answer?" The governor's tone did not waver. If they did as ordered, perhaps they would be allowed to leave. And whatever Lawrence and company might tell the Church after that, it would be after the fact. It would not be hard to keep their heads in the sand.
But if they defied the order...
They were in a forest. No one would answer their cries for help.
It did not take a clever merchant to arrive at the obvious course of action.
And yet this is how Lawrence answered.
"We have been sent by the bishop in order to render the legend of the angel in silverwork."
The governor's right eyelid twitched. "And you may tell them you failed in your goal. Ruvinheigen is very far from here. No one will doubt you."
"Yes, that is quite true."
| If so, this acting was probably the most this governor was capable of.
"However, that was not our only purpose."
Lawrence could hear the governor draw a sharp breath.
"Do you know who the saint that lies in the cottage behind me is?"
"Saint...?" the governor replied dubiously.
Lawrence continued, "Her name is Katerina Lucci. She earned the trust of many a noble, and her application for canonization has been submitted to the pontiff in the far south. She is a genuine and true saint."
***
Such a mixture of surprise and doubt would render anyone expressionless.
The governor's eyes regarded him, full of worry.
"We've been sent to investigate as part of the canonization process. After all, she was a woman who hated appearing in front of others. For a long time her whereabouts were unknown, but she was finally located, so..."
If this lie was true, nothing would come of silencing Lawrence and his companions now. If the governor or the landlord harmed them, they would be harming their future selves as well.
"However, the honored sister has passed peacefully away. There are many who without a title would treat even God as a cur, a beast, but I know the landlord here understands the way of things. I shall be sure to make note of that in my report. And incidentally..." Lawrence looked the governor evenly in the eyes. "I presume that you will need to consult with your honored lord?"
As though struck by a magic spell that caused time to begin moving again, the governor returned to his senses. He wiped sweat from his brow. His mouth twitched, probably out of his efforts to maintain his facade of authority.
But before words of anger could leave his mouth, a voice sounded from behind him.
"It certainly seems that way."
The old knight looked back over his shoulder as though pulled.
In the center of the hastily assembled troop of farmers turned soldiers were a few proper fighters, and from among them emerged a single man.
He was slender and middle-aged, to whom a high, shrill voice would seem appropriate.
Yet he did have an undeniable aura of command, and it seemed entirely fitting for the governor to dismount from his horse and come to his master's side, though the lord dismissed him.
He approached Lawrence alone, perhaps disliking being petitioned indirectly.
"I am Kirchner Linguid."
Lawrence had not expected the man to introduce himself. Apparently he had no intention of immediately calling Lawrence's claims into question.
Lawrence started to take a knee in a bow, but Linguid stopped him with a hand.
"I am Kraft Lawrence of the Rowen Trade Guild," he said, standing.
"Mm." Linguid nodded, and after heaving a heavy sigh, he continued, "I'll put it to you straight, then. Do you have any proof to support your claims?"
For a lord to dismount and say such a thing immediately proved his hesitation. All the more so given the tough words spoken with a tough attitude.
Lawrence realized that he was a small player in a tight position, just trying to stay alive.
"What might I bring forth as evidence?" Lawrence asked, and for a moment, Linguid was at a loss for words.
He opened his mouth as though angry, either because he thought he was being mocked or simply because of what Lawrence had asked.
"I have heard nothing of this supposed canonization. Something so important should certainly have reached my ears. So speak. Have you proof?"
When a timid man's face went red from anger, you could be certain the rage in his heart had been sparked.
But there was no need to further wound his pride, so Lawrence quickly replied, "This involves many people in various positions. Someone like me isn't provided material proof. But if I might propose an alternative, I could list some of the names of the nobles who've charged me with this duty."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | If so, this acting was probably the most this governor was capable of.
"However, that was not our only purpose."
Lawrence could hear the governor draw a sharp breath.
"Do you know who the saint that lies in the cottage behind me is?"
"Saint...?" the governor replied dubiously.
Lawrence continued, "Her name is Katerina Lucci. She earned the trust of many a noble, and her application for canonization has been submitted to the pontiff in the far south. She is a genuine and true saint."
***
Such a mixture of surprise and doubt would render anyone expressionless.
The governor's eyes regarded him, full of worry.
"We've been sent to investigate as part of the canonization process. After all, she was a woman who hated appearing in front of others. For a long time her whereabouts were unknown, but she was finally located, so..."
If this lie was true, nothing would come of silencing Lawrence and his companions now. If the governor or the landlord harmed them, they would be harming their future selves as well.
"However, the honored sister has passed peacefully away. There are many who without a title would treat even God as a cur, a beast, but I know the landlord here understands the way of things. I shall be sure to make note of that in my report. And incidentally..." Lawrence looked the governor evenly in the eyes. "I presume that you will need to consult with your honored lord?"
As though struck by a magic spell that caused time to begin moving again, the governor returned to his senses. He wiped sweat from his brow. His mouth twitched, probably out of his efforts to maintain his facade of authority.
But before words of anger could leave his mouth, a voice sounded from behind him.
"It certainly seems that way."
The old knight looked back over his shoulder as though pulled.
In the center of the hastily assembled troop of farmers turned soldiers were a few proper fighters, and from among them emerged a single man.
He was slender and middle-aged, to whom a high, shrill voice would seem appropriate.
Yet he did have an undeniable aura of command, and it seemed entirely fitting for the governor to dismount from his horse and come to his master's side, though the lord dismissed him.
He approached Lawrence alone, perhaps disliking being petitioned indirectly.
"I am Kirchner Linguid."
Lawrence had not expected the man to introduce himself. Apparently he had no intention of immediately calling Lawrence's claims into question.
Lawrence started to take a knee in a bow, but Linguid stopped him with a hand.
"I am Kraft Lawrence of the Rowen Trade Guild," he said, standing.
"Mm." Linguid nodded, and after heaving a heavy sigh, he continued, "I'll put it to you straight, then. Do you have any proof to support your claims?"
For a lord to dismount and say such a thing immediately proved his hesitation. All the more so given the tough words spoken with a tough attitude.
Lawrence realized that he was a small player in a tight position, just trying to stay alive.
"What might I bring forth as evidence?" Lawrence asked, and for a moment, Linguid was at a loss for words.
He opened his mouth as though angry, either because he thought he was being mocked or simply because of what Lawrence had asked.
"I have heard nothing of this supposed canonization. Something so important should certainly have reached my ears. So speak. Have you proof?"
When a timid man's face went red from anger, you could be certain the rage in his heart had been sparked.
But there was no need to further wound his pride, so Lawrence quickly replied, "This involves many people in various positions. Someone like me isn't provided material proof. But if I might propose an alternative, I could list some of the names of the nobles who've charged me with this duty."
| Lawrence cleared his throat, opened Katerina's diary in his mind's eye, and spoke.
"Baron Lans of Rien. Sir Marth of Dorenne. Marquis Ivendott of Singhilt. Archbishop Corselio of the Lamann Archdiocese."
Lawrence paused for a moment and watched Linguid's reaction. He seemed to recognize some of the names and stood there mutely. Lawrence continued.
"There's Sirs D'une and Maraffe, and Countess Roez from the Linz duchy. And in Ploania..."
Lawrence was preparing to continue, but Linguid stopped him with a hand.
His face was pale with fright.
Lawrence had only listed the names located in the north of Ploania. As someone who had had to deal with the religious conflicts in the area, they would have been names Linguid was familiar with.
And there was one more important thing.
All these nobles had been involved in an important affair regarding his own lands, and yet he had known nothing. It suggested the possibility that he was seen as a pagan power, an enemy of the Church.
If this Lawrence truly had come to confirm a canonization, then doubting the man's word was too dangerous for someone in Linguid's position to risk. It was all he could do to go along with it.
"F-fine, I understand. So...what must I do?"
It would have been a lie to say Lawrence did not feel some pity for the terrified lord, but past that he felt only anger. Merchants were said to be the least scrupulous people in the world, but even as a merchant he found Linguid pathetic.
Lawrence had hoped a landlord would have had a bit more pride, but he did not let the thought show on his face. He merely smiled. "Please, do not worry. You weren't consulted regarding the canonization simply because this region is a complicated one. I understand that you've had trouble governing it."
Linguid was probably twice Lawrence's age, but he nodded like a child. Perhaps he had been born in the wrong place.
"But as you can see, the cottage has been beautifully kept. It's clear to me that you, my lord, are a faithful and pious man. I am sure that when they hear of this, those responsible for managing this matter will be relieved to hear it."
"Th-that's right. I imagine so." He smiled a simpering smile.
Next to Lawrence, Fran made no reaction, either because she simply had that much self-control or else she had seen enough bloodshed on the battlefield and would invite no more.
"But this process being what it is, it must proceed in secret. Can I have your word that you will keep this quiet while the canonization proceeds?"
"...But that's..."
"There are many, many obstacles," said Lawrence, which Linguid gulped at and nodded.
The plan had succeeded.
Once Holo emerged to make doubly sure, none of these men would even think of approaching the forest or the lake.
Lawrence was about to speak the words he had agreed upon with Holo ahead of time. But just then—
"That's her!" called out a voice at this most inopportune moment.
Linguid whirled around, and Lawrence, too, searched for the source of the voice.
What met his gaze was a single soldier carrying a spear. He wore a battered iron helmet and breastplate and was obviously an experienced fighter.
The man took three steps forward. "That's her! That's her!" he said.
Lawrence thought he heard Fran hold her breath.
"What do you mean, 'That's her?'"
"That's her, boss!"
Regardless of how weak a ruler Linguid was, no retainer would dare call him "boss." This man had to be a paid mercenary.
He spat on the snow as he looked at them with dubious eyes. Or more accurately, he looked at Fran.
"It's just as the villagers said!"
"The villagers?" said Linguid, looking doubtfully back at Lawrence and Fran. His eyes seemed to apologize for the rudeness of his hireling, but Lawrence made a reassuring gesture.
"Aye, the villagers were talking about a dark-skinned silversmith, and that's got to be her!"
It seemed that Linguid went stiff, but that was probably a mistake. Because it was Lawrence who froze, and in doing so, his vision shook.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Lawrence cleared his throat, opened Katerina's diary in his mind's eye, and spoke.
"Baron Lans of Rien. Sir Marth of Dorenne. Marquis Ivendott of Singhilt. Archbishop Corselio of the Lamann Archdiocese."
Lawrence paused for a moment and watched Linguid's reaction. He seemed to recognize some of the names and stood there mutely. Lawrence continued.
"There's Sirs D'une and Maraffe, and Countess Roez from the Linz duchy. And in Ploania..."
Lawrence was preparing to continue, but Linguid stopped him with a hand.
His face was pale with fright.
Lawrence had only listed the names located in the north of Ploania. As someone who had had to deal with the religious conflicts in the area, they would have been names Linguid was familiar with.
And there was one more important thing.
All these nobles had been involved in an important affair regarding his own lands, and yet he had known nothing. It suggested the possibility that he was seen as a pagan power, an enemy of the Church.
If this Lawrence truly had come to confirm a canonization, then doubting the man's word was too dangerous for someone in Linguid's position to risk. It was all he could do to go along with it.
"F-fine, I understand. So...what must I do?"
It would have been a lie to say Lawrence did not feel some pity for the terrified lord, but past that he felt only anger. Merchants were said to be the least scrupulous people in the world, but even as a merchant he found Linguid pathetic.
Lawrence had hoped a landlord would have had a bit more pride, but he did not let the thought show on his face. He merely smiled. "Please, do not worry. You weren't consulted regarding the canonization simply because this region is a complicated one. I understand that you've had trouble governing it."
Linguid was probably twice Lawrence's age, but he nodded like a child. Perhaps he had been born in the wrong place.
"But as you can see, the cottage has been beautifully kept. It's clear to me that you, my lord, are a faithful and pious man. I am sure that when they hear of this, those responsible for managing this matter will be relieved to hear it."
"Th-that's right. I imagine so." He smiled a simpering smile.
Next to Lawrence, Fran made no reaction, either because she simply had that much self-control or else she had seen enough bloodshed on the battlefield and would invite no more.
"But this process being what it is, it must proceed in secret. Can I have your word that you will keep this quiet while the canonization proceeds?"
"...But that's..."
"There are many, many obstacles," said Lawrence, which Linguid gulped at and nodded.
The plan had succeeded.
Once Holo emerged to make doubly sure, none of these men would even think of approaching the forest or the lake.
Lawrence was about to speak the words he had agreed upon with Holo ahead of time. But just then—
"That's her!" called out a voice at this most inopportune moment.
Linguid whirled around, and Lawrence, too, searched for the source of the voice.
What met his gaze was a single soldier carrying a spear. He wore a battered iron helmet and breastplate and was obviously an experienced fighter.
The man took three steps forward. "That's her! That's her!" he said.
Lawrence thought he heard Fran hold her breath.
"What do you mean, 'That's her?'"
"That's her, boss!"
Regardless of how weak a ruler Linguid was, no retainer would dare call him "boss." This man had to be a paid mercenary.
He spat on the snow as he looked at them with dubious eyes. Or more accurately, he looked at Fran.
"It's just as the villagers said!"
"The villagers?" said Linguid, looking doubtfully back at Lawrence and Fran. His eyes seemed to apologize for the rudeness of his hireling, but Lawrence made a reassuring gesture.
"Aye, the villagers were talking about a dark-skinned silversmith, and that's got to be her!"
It seemed that Linguid went stiff, but that was probably a mistake. Because it was Lawrence who froze, and in doing so, his vision shook.
| At Linguid's words the man spat again and smiled a thin smile. "I know there's nothing so absurd as the idea that these two are from the Church."
Linguid turned back to Lawrence and Fran, openly looking at one, then the other. He was not trying to gauge their mood, but rather their reactions.
"Don't let 'em lie to you, boss! That tanned silversmith is named Fran Vonely, the black priestess of the Scarlet Hawk mercenary band!"
The man advanced without hesitation. He pointed the iron-tipped, battle-worn spear directly at Fran. "She was the chaplain of the Kirjavainen mercenary troop, which made a bit of a name for itself in Ploania. My own band's got them to thank for quite a bit. They got my friend of twenty years in Kardin Gorge."
Linguid practically jumped back from Lawrence.
If the world of the nobility was a small one, the world of mercenaries that were paid to fight for them was a small one as well. Could they escape from this? Even if he said nothing, if they went through Katerina's things, there would be nothing left to do.
"They made important enemies left and right, and finally their leader was hung on suspicion of being a pagan. No matter how you reckon it, there's no way she'd turn into a friend of the Church."
"I-is this true?!" said Linguid, his voice sounding like a strangled chicken.
The man looked askance at Linguid's irritating voice and then hefted his spear threateningly. "Just ask her yourself." He grinned and not only because he had probably earned himself a bonus.
His eyes burned for revenge—no—for the chance to kill someone strong, someone whose glory was in the past.
"S-so? Is this true?" Linguid demanded as he looked at Fran.
Fran looked down and said nothing. There was no evading this. Fran's appearance and characteristics were unmistakable.
Lawrence directed his gaze at the cottage, then spoke.
"I'm sure the angel knows the truth."
"Wh-what? What do you..." Mean, Linguid was going to finish, but he didn't get the chance.
Fran swatted away the spear that was pointed at her like it was a fly.
Lawrence was just as impressed as anyone. It was easy enough to describe, but with a spearpoint at one's belly, actually doing it was not nearly so easy. It took either long experience or else a deep and abiding faith greater than any fear.
Fran took a step forward, and Linguid staggered back, perhaps able to feel the implacable something within her.
She took two steps forward, and Linguid took three back, and the man whose spear she had slapped away again pointed it at her.
"Fran Vonely, aren't you?"
Instead of answering him, she removed her hood. "And if I say I'm not?"
Her movement when pushing the spear aside and walking forward had been so natural that the man had not been able to react immediately. Fran looked back at him and smiled.
"The villagers called this faithful nun a witch simply for their own meager profit. And now these sly nobles are paying their gold to have her dubbed a saint, this time for profits far vaster. And here, this landlord would destroy all trace of her just to build a water mill to satisfy his own piddling avarice. What do you think of this—of all of this?"
The man seemed not to understand what was being said, and Linguid looked at her as though she were God herself, here to deal divine justice.
Fran very distinctly smiled and then looked at Lawrence. He had no idea what she was trying to do.
He did know that very soon Holo would appear atop the waterfall, there to terrify all present. Lawrence considered that and decided to try to stop Fran.
But he was not in time—perhaps it was Katerina's power.
"My name is Fran Vonely. Am I a saint? Or am I a witch?" She was directing her hellish sermon to the farmers from the village, most of whom had been rounded up for this duty. She projected her voice with perfect clarity. "You all know what the right thing was."
The murmur that arose was the sound of all assembled swallowing nervously.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | At Linguid's words the man spat again and smiled a thin smile. "I know there's nothing so absurd as the idea that these two are from the Church."
Linguid turned back to Lawrence and Fran, openly looking at one, then the other. He was not trying to gauge their mood, but rather their reactions.
"Don't let 'em lie to you, boss! That tanned silversmith is named Fran Vonely, the black priestess of the Scarlet Hawk mercenary band!"
The man advanced without hesitation. He pointed the iron-tipped, battle-worn spear directly at Fran. "She was the chaplain of the Kirjavainen mercenary troop, which made a bit of a name for itself in Ploania. My own band's got them to thank for quite a bit. They got my friend of twenty years in Kardin Gorge."
Linguid practically jumped back from Lawrence.
If the world of the nobility was a small one, the world of mercenaries that were paid to fight for them was a small one as well. Could they escape from this? Even if he said nothing, if they went through Katerina's things, there would be nothing left to do.
"They made important enemies left and right, and finally their leader was hung on suspicion of being a pagan. No matter how you reckon it, there's no way she'd turn into a friend of the Church."
"I-is this true?!" said Linguid, his voice sounding like a strangled chicken.
The man looked askance at Linguid's irritating voice and then hefted his spear threateningly. "Just ask her yourself." He grinned and not only because he had probably earned himself a bonus.
His eyes burned for revenge—no—for the chance to kill someone strong, someone whose glory was in the past.
"S-so? Is this true?" Linguid demanded as he looked at Fran.
Fran looked down and said nothing. There was no evading this. Fran's appearance and characteristics were unmistakable.
Lawrence directed his gaze at the cottage, then spoke.
"I'm sure the angel knows the truth."
"Wh-what? What do you..." Mean, Linguid was going to finish, but he didn't get the chance.
Fran swatted away the spear that was pointed at her like it was a fly.
Lawrence was just as impressed as anyone. It was easy enough to describe, but with a spearpoint at one's belly, actually doing it was not nearly so easy. It took either long experience or else a deep and abiding faith greater than any fear.
Fran took a step forward, and Linguid staggered back, perhaps able to feel the implacable something within her.
She took two steps forward, and Linguid took three back, and the man whose spear she had slapped away again pointed it at her.
"Fran Vonely, aren't you?"
Instead of answering him, she removed her hood. "And if I say I'm not?"
Her movement when pushing the spear aside and walking forward had been so natural that the man had not been able to react immediately. Fran looked back at him and smiled.
"The villagers called this faithful nun a witch simply for their own meager profit. And now these sly nobles are paying their gold to have her dubbed a saint, this time for profits far vaster. And here, this landlord would destroy all trace of her just to build a water mill to satisfy his own piddling avarice. What do you think of this—of all of this?"
The man seemed not to understand what was being said, and Linguid looked at her as though she were God herself, here to deal divine justice.
Fran very distinctly smiled and then looked at Lawrence. He had no idea what she was trying to do.
He did know that very soon Holo would appear atop the waterfall, there to terrify all present. Lawrence considered that and decided to try to stop Fran.
But he was not in time—perhaps it was Katerina's power.
"My name is Fran Vonely. Am I a saint? Or am I a witch?" She was directing her hellish sermon to the farmers from the village, most of whom had been rounded up for this duty. She projected her voice with perfect clarity. "You all know what the right thing was."
The murmur that arose was the sound of all assembled swallowing nervously.
| "You'll know for certain when you do. After all, the angel is always watching."
There was a sound like a whistling wind—it was the sound of the man thrusting his spear without so much as a word.
He scattered the snow and cleaved the air, trying to pierce Fran.
The speed of the movements was far beyond anything Lawrence the traveling merchant could hope to stop. Very clearly, he saw the tip of the spear sink into Fran's side.
"You witch!" the man screamed, pulling the spear back and preparing for another thrust.
"Stop—!" Lawrence shouted, trying to leap at the man, but he was too late.
But the spear only grazed the top of Fran's shoulder, slicing her robe.
This was no miracle. A loosed arrow went into and back out of the man's right leg.
"—Ngh!"
The man crumpled to the snowy ground, looking at his leg in disbelief, at a total loss for words. It was one of the villagers that had loosed the arrow—a hunter, by the look of him. Faces were full of fear, breathing ragged, rough.
Everyone feared death. But Fran had sparked that fear anew.
"Protect the saint!" someone shouted.
A skirmish began immediately, and it was unclear who was an ally and who an enemy.
Chaplains had nothing but words to wield on the plain of battle. Just as they could give courage to those whose legs were weak with fear, they could comfort those whose death was nigh.
There were many here who feared divine punishment for having gathered around Katerina's cottage to harm the forest and lake where the angel's legend lingered. And true to her reputation as the black priestess, Fran had controlled them with her words.
Though her left flank was soaked in red, her expression had not changed, and she faced the landlord and spoke. "See for yourself what the truth is."
Lawrence thought Linguid was about to nod, but he just fell right on his backside. Such was the force of Fran's character.
Fran turned on her heel and began to walk.
"Wh-where are you—" Lawrence knew it was a foolish question, but he was unable to stop himself from asking.
Enough blood was seeping from the wound in her side that she stained the snow red with every step. She neither turned around nor stopped, but she did answer: "To see the angel myself."
Lawrence could not clearly hear her over the clamor of the fighting, but he understood what she meant. More than anything else, he felt the power of the faith that fairly radiated from her back.
At this late hour, it was neither hope nor delusion but pure conviction that drove her to bear witness.
He took an unthinking step, reaching out and putting his hand on his shoulder, but not to carry her back to the cottage and bandage her wound.
"Do you hear it?" Fran asked. Her voice was weak, perhaps from blood loss, and thanks to the noise around them, Lawrence asked her to repeat herself.
"It's the howl of a beast."
Lawrence shivered. He looked over his shoulder, knowing exactly what her words pointed to.
With animalistic roars, the men fought. Whatever their goal had been, they swung swords and spilled blood. Questions of Church or pagan were meaningless; they were each of them beasts, fighting only to preserve their own lives.
The sound, their voices, combined in a bestial roar, mixing and echoing into the sky.
But why had Fran mentioned it? Was it to mock them? Out of contempt? Or a cold laugh at this, the true nature of the world?
As Lawrence held Fran up and helped her walk, he finally realized. He had not imagined it. And it certainly had not been Holo. He recognized the sound. It reached his ears, a low howl: Oooooooooo.
At that moment, Lawrence remembered what Holo had said, that the lake was surrounded by mountains like a bowl. That the human notion of the mountains answering a shouted call was the product of their foolishness, she had said.
And then he remembered what Fran had told him in the cottage—that the water could overflow and powerfully.
Those two were the keys.
Lawrence looked up.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "You'll know for certain when you do. After all, the angel is always watching."
There was a sound like a whistling wind—it was the sound of the man thrusting his spear without so much as a word.
He scattered the snow and cleaved the air, trying to pierce Fran.
The speed of the movements was far beyond anything Lawrence the traveling merchant could hope to stop. Very clearly, he saw the tip of the spear sink into Fran's side.
"You witch!" the man screamed, pulling the spear back and preparing for another thrust.
"Stop—!" Lawrence shouted, trying to leap at the man, but he was too late.
But the spear only grazed the top of Fran's shoulder, slicing her robe.
This was no miracle. A loosed arrow went into and back out of the man's right leg.
"—Ngh!"
The man crumpled to the snowy ground, looking at his leg in disbelief, at a total loss for words. It was one of the villagers that had loosed the arrow—a hunter, by the look of him. Faces were full of fear, breathing ragged, rough.
Everyone feared death. But Fran had sparked that fear anew.
"Protect the saint!" someone shouted.
A skirmish began immediately, and it was unclear who was an ally and who an enemy.
Chaplains had nothing but words to wield on the plain of battle. Just as they could give courage to those whose legs were weak with fear, they could comfort those whose death was nigh.
There were many here who feared divine punishment for having gathered around Katerina's cottage to harm the forest and lake where the angel's legend lingered. And true to her reputation as the black priestess, Fran had controlled them with her words.
Though her left flank was soaked in red, her expression had not changed, and she faced the landlord and spoke. "See for yourself what the truth is."
Lawrence thought Linguid was about to nod, but he just fell right on his backside. Such was the force of Fran's character.
Fran turned on her heel and began to walk.
"Wh-where are you—" Lawrence knew it was a foolish question, but he was unable to stop himself from asking.
Enough blood was seeping from the wound in her side that she stained the snow red with every step. She neither turned around nor stopped, but she did answer: "To see the angel myself."
Lawrence could not clearly hear her over the clamor of the fighting, but he understood what she meant. More than anything else, he felt the power of the faith that fairly radiated from her back.
At this late hour, it was neither hope nor delusion but pure conviction that drove her to bear witness.
He took an unthinking step, reaching out and putting his hand on his shoulder, but not to carry her back to the cottage and bandage her wound.
"Do you hear it?" Fran asked. Her voice was weak, perhaps from blood loss, and thanks to the noise around them, Lawrence asked her to repeat herself.
"It's the howl of a beast."
Lawrence shivered. He looked over his shoulder, knowing exactly what her words pointed to.
With animalistic roars, the men fought. Whatever their goal had been, they swung swords and spilled blood. Questions of Church or pagan were meaningless; they were each of them beasts, fighting only to preserve their own lives.
The sound, their voices, combined in a bestial roar, mixing and echoing into the sky.
But why had Fran mentioned it? Was it to mock them? Out of contempt? Or a cold laugh at this, the true nature of the world?
As Lawrence held Fran up and helped her walk, he finally realized. He had not imagined it. And it certainly had not been Holo. He recognized the sound. It reached his ears, a low howl: Oooooooooo.
At that moment, Lawrence remembered what Holo had said, that the lake was surrounded by mountains like a bowl. That the human notion of the mountains answering a shouted call was the product of their foolishness, she had said.
And then he remembered what Fran had told him in the cottage—that the water could overflow and powerfully.
Those two were the keys.
Lawrence looked up.
| Their eyes met; Lawrence nodded.
Holo leapt up atop the waterfall.
And howled.
The very air shook, the branches of the trees swayed, the surface of the water rippled.
Fran had told the landlord to see for himself what the truth was.
But the sight of Holo at the top of the falls, teeth bared as she bore up the moon and howled a long, long howl, was a sight both divinely awesome and monstrously terrifying.
Even Fran was rendered speechless.
Would the outcome be good or ill? Holo herself had been dubious and unwilling to emerge. But Lawrence had faith and convinced her that things would go well.
And here was the evidence. Her howl echoed across the landscape like a vast bell struck by a mallet.
Fran stiffened, and in the midst of all that, she murmured something.
"...It's coming."
Just as the howl subsided—
All Lawrence could hear were the breaths taken by the men, each frozen in place by Holo's gaze as she looked down imperiously at them all.
And then it reached their ears—the low, low rumble. The distant sound of an advancing army. The sound of heaven's footsteps.
Most lost their nerve and began to look around desperately.
The sound soon subsided.
And then nothing happened, and there was silence.
Someone pointed up at the waterfall. "H-hey, the monster, it's gone!"
"Did we really see anything...?" another murmured.
Lawrence knew they had, and Holo had not hidden herself to try to make them think otherwise. She had just perfectly guessed what Lawrence and Fran would do.
One of the soldiers called out. "The waterfall!"
With those words, the water of the fall slowed to a trickle. And then, an instant later, the trickle disappeared into a great wave.
The wave surged, swallowing everything in its path, then crashed into the rock at the tip of the waterfall that divided its flow in half, spraying into the night sky as though to wash the moon itself clean.
What happened next was impossible to explain to anyone.
The divided force of the wave caused great twin sprays of droplets to jump into the air, glittering whitely.
And it was so cold.
The spray turned to ice, illuminated by the moonlight.
The great volume of water falling into the splash pool made a peculiar sound, like the beating of great wings.
Blown by the wind, the frozen spray flew into the sky.
This was the legend of the angel.
"...Miss Fran!" Lawrence could not help but call out her name, holding her as she fell to her knees. Her face was peaceful, but her eyes were fixed elsewhere—somewhere far, far away.
Fran slowly reached her hand out and spoke one word. "Beautiful..."
Those of the men who saw their own ugliness threw down their weapons and fled. Others fell to their knees, ashamed at their own faithlessness.
And the only one among them with true conviction turned her face to the sky, reaching for the beauty there.
The angel ascended to the heavens.
Droplets of ice glittered in the hem of the moonlight.
***
"And then what happened?!"
Hugues's large body pressed in close, and Lawrence shrunk back in spite of himself. He pushed the man back with his hand, which made the art seller seem to come to his senses.
Hugues sat back down in his chair, and fidgeting with his clothes, he repeated the question. "So, then what happened?"
"And then the village accepted the legend of the angel as true and most definitely came to believe in Katerina's sainthood. So that was that. However..." Lawrence sipped the mulled wine he had been offered before continuing. "...Neither the villagers nor the landlord can very well claim they saw both an angel and a monster, so they've decided to pretend to the rest of the world as though the whole thing never happened."
"Ah, I see...I see." Hugues leaned back in his chair like a boy listening to an adventure tale. He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. Heaving a heavy sigh, he seemed finally at ease.
"You seemed calmer when we actually returned," teased Lawrence, which Hugues opened his eyes at and laughed.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Their eyes met; Lawrence nodded.
Holo leapt up atop the waterfall.
And howled.
The very air shook, the branches of the trees swayed, the surface of the water rippled.
Fran had told the landlord to see for himself what the truth was.
But the sight of Holo at the top of the falls, teeth bared as she bore up the moon and howled a long, long howl, was a sight both divinely awesome and monstrously terrifying.
Even Fran was rendered speechless.
Would the outcome be good or ill? Holo herself had been dubious and unwilling to emerge. But Lawrence had faith and convinced her that things would go well.
And here was the evidence. Her howl echoed across the landscape like a vast bell struck by a mallet.
Fran stiffened, and in the midst of all that, she murmured something.
"...It's coming."
Just as the howl subsided—
All Lawrence could hear were the breaths taken by the men, each frozen in place by Holo's gaze as she looked down imperiously at them all.
And then it reached their ears—the low, low rumble. The distant sound of an advancing army. The sound of heaven's footsteps.
Most lost their nerve and began to look around desperately.
The sound soon subsided.
And then nothing happened, and there was silence.
Someone pointed up at the waterfall. "H-hey, the monster, it's gone!"
"Did we really see anything...?" another murmured.
Lawrence knew they had, and Holo had not hidden herself to try to make them think otherwise. She had just perfectly guessed what Lawrence and Fran would do.
One of the soldiers called out. "The waterfall!"
With those words, the water of the fall slowed to a trickle. And then, an instant later, the trickle disappeared into a great wave.
The wave surged, swallowing everything in its path, then crashed into the rock at the tip of the waterfall that divided its flow in half, spraying into the night sky as though to wash the moon itself clean.
What happened next was impossible to explain to anyone.
The divided force of the wave caused great twin sprays of droplets to jump into the air, glittering whitely.
And it was so cold.
The spray turned to ice, illuminated by the moonlight.
The great volume of water falling into the splash pool made a peculiar sound, like the beating of great wings.
Blown by the wind, the frozen spray flew into the sky.
This was the legend of the angel.
"...Miss Fran!" Lawrence could not help but call out her name, holding her as she fell to her knees. Her face was peaceful, but her eyes were fixed elsewhere—somewhere far, far away.
Fran slowly reached her hand out and spoke one word. "Beautiful..."
Those of the men who saw their own ugliness threw down their weapons and fled. Others fell to their knees, ashamed at their own faithlessness.
And the only one among them with true conviction turned her face to the sky, reaching for the beauty there.
The angel ascended to the heavens.
Droplets of ice glittered in the hem of the moonlight.
***
"And then what happened?!"
Hugues's large body pressed in close, and Lawrence shrunk back in spite of himself. He pushed the man back with his hand, which made the art seller seem to come to his senses.
Hugues sat back down in his chair, and fidgeting with his clothes, he repeated the question. "So, then what happened?"
"And then the village accepted the legend of the angel as true and most definitely came to believe in Katerina's sainthood. So that was that. However..." Lawrence sipped the mulled wine he had been offered before continuing. "...Neither the villagers nor the landlord can very well claim they saw both an angel and a monster, so they've decided to pretend to the rest of the world as though the whole thing never happened."
"Ah, I see...I see." Hugues leaned back in his chair like a boy listening to an adventure tale. He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. Heaving a heavy sigh, he seemed finally at ease.
"You seemed calmer when we actually returned," teased Lawrence, which Hugues opened his eyes at and laughed.
| In point of fact, in Taussig the hunters and mountain men had put forth an all-out effort to tend to Fran's wounds. The reason they had returned before she was fully healed was that the villagers would not stop fussing over her. Holo, who so hated being worshipped as a god, was delighted to discover someone who loathed attention as much as she did.
It had been three days since they had taken Fran and put the village of Taussig behind them. They had arrived in Kerube the previous night and had all immediately made for their beds—save Lawrence, who Hugues dragged downstairs to explain the events in Taussig.
"But what was behind the angel legend after all?"
Lawrence popped a piece of honeyed fruit into his mouth before answering. "An avalanche."
"An avalanche?" Hugues repeated, stunned.
"That's right. A huge volume of snow from the mountainside slid into the lake, making a gigantic wave that crashed into the waterfall. The sound of the heavenly army's march was actually the sound of rushing snow."
"S-so then, what about the beast's howl?"
On this point, Lawrence himself was not entirely certain. But of all the possibilities, he chose the most likely one. "That was how it sounded after bouncing off of the lake. An echo, you see. This time it came from the sound of the men fighting. I'm sure sometime in the distant past there was some similar disturbance that caused it."
Of course, the climax had been Holo's voice, he added.
It made an amusingly good story, though—the sound of a battle calling down an angel. Going by Fran's guess, it might have originally been the sound of a strong wind echoing off the mountain that first caused the avalanche.
Yet given his way, Lawrence liked the first story better.
"The world certainly is full of wonders."
"That's certain enough," said Lawrence with a rueful grin, and Hugues's shoulders shook with mirth.
"Still, if everything's settled now, perhaps I ought to visit Taussig myself sometime. Though I doubt I'll be as brave or bold as Miss Holo," Hugues joked.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
The question of who it would be at this late hour was soon answered.
Hugues stood from his chair with a chastened grin and walked over to the door.
Unlike the wilderness where you could sleep where you liked and make noise where you liked, within the town walls there were rules regarding the hours when candles could be kept burning. With buildings raised so close to one another, a stray flame left burning in one could easily set another alight.
It seemed the town guard had noticed the light coming from the candle on the table.
"Well, then, I'll take my leave," said Lawrence to Hugues's back as he stood up. If he waited for Hugues to return, he had the distinct impression that they would simply move to another room where he would be pressed for more stories, so he decided to make his retreat while he could.
He took his cup of mulled wine with him and climbed the stairs.
The steps creaked under his weight, and he followed the handrail to their room.
From the entrance, it looked like a small and rather poor building, but farther inside it became clear that it was a perfectly respectable four-story trading company.
Normally in trading companies, the higher in the building you were, the lower your status, so Lawrence and his companions being housed on the second floor was proof of Hugues's respect for them.
Making his way to the room where Holo and Col were sleeping, Lawrence noticed a sliver of light leaking into the hallway.
It was standard for burglars to enter from the second floor.
Lawrence peeked into the half-open door and saw that it was Fran's room.
"Yes?" His peek was immediately noticed.
She was human but well used to traveling alone and a world apart from a mere town girl.
"I saw the light and thought there might be a burglar."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | In point of fact, in Taussig the hunters and mountain men had put forth an all-out effort to tend to Fran's wounds. The reason they had returned before she was fully healed was that the villagers would not stop fussing over her. Holo, who so hated being worshipped as a god, was delighted to discover someone who loathed attention as much as she did.
It had been three days since they had taken Fran and put the village of Taussig behind them. They had arrived in Kerube the previous night and had all immediately made for their beds—save Lawrence, who Hugues dragged downstairs to explain the events in Taussig.
"But what was behind the angel legend after all?"
Lawrence popped a piece of honeyed fruit into his mouth before answering. "An avalanche."
"An avalanche?" Hugues repeated, stunned.
"That's right. A huge volume of snow from the mountainside slid into the lake, making a gigantic wave that crashed into the waterfall. The sound of the heavenly army's march was actually the sound of rushing snow."
"S-so then, what about the beast's howl?"
On this point, Lawrence himself was not entirely certain. But of all the possibilities, he chose the most likely one. "That was how it sounded after bouncing off of the lake. An echo, you see. This time it came from the sound of the men fighting. I'm sure sometime in the distant past there was some similar disturbance that caused it."
Of course, the climax had been Holo's voice, he added.
It made an amusingly good story, though—the sound of a battle calling down an angel. Going by Fran's guess, it might have originally been the sound of a strong wind echoing off the mountain that first caused the avalanche.
Yet given his way, Lawrence liked the first story better.
"The world certainly is full of wonders."
"That's certain enough," said Lawrence with a rueful grin, and Hugues's shoulders shook with mirth.
"Still, if everything's settled now, perhaps I ought to visit Taussig myself sometime. Though I doubt I'll be as brave or bold as Miss Holo," Hugues joked.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
The question of who it would be at this late hour was soon answered.
Hugues stood from his chair with a chastened grin and walked over to the door.
Unlike the wilderness where you could sleep where you liked and make noise where you liked, within the town walls there were rules regarding the hours when candles could be kept burning. With buildings raised so close to one another, a stray flame left burning in one could easily set another alight.
It seemed the town guard had noticed the light coming from the candle on the table.
"Well, then, I'll take my leave," said Lawrence to Hugues's back as he stood up. If he waited for Hugues to return, he had the distinct impression that they would simply move to another room where he would be pressed for more stories, so he decided to make his retreat while he could.
He took his cup of mulled wine with him and climbed the stairs.
The steps creaked under his weight, and he followed the handrail to their room.
From the entrance, it looked like a small and rather poor building, but farther inside it became clear that it was a perfectly respectable four-story trading company.
Normally in trading companies, the higher in the building you were, the lower your status, so Lawrence and his companions being housed on the second floor was proof of Hugues's respect for them.
Making his way to the room where Holo and Col were sleeping, Lawrence noticed a sliver of light leaking into the hallway.
It was standard for burglars to enter from the second floor.
Lawrence peeked into the half-open door and saw that it was Fran's room.
"Yes?" His peek was immediately noticed.
She was human but well used to traveling alone and a world apart from a mere town girl.
"I saw the light and thought there might be a burglar."
| It was the sort of story that was swapped over drinks, but considering what they had just been through, it seemed appropriate.
"It's cold."
"You should soothe fresh wounds with cold and old ones with heat."
It seemed a rough method but probably an effective one. Lawrence preferred not to need the knowledge in the first place, if possible.
Chaplain—Fran had that title.
"I had always thought to end my travels once I saw the angel."
Blue moonlight streamed in through the open window, and her body itself seemed about ready to turn into light motes and disappear.
She was luridly wrapped in bandages around her middle and over her shoulder, and the fever she had borne in Taussig had broken. And yet not once had Fran appeared even slightly weak.
Had she been unable to manage at least this much, she never would have been employed as a chaplain, responsible for the faith and morale of an entire troop.
"By travels, you mean...?" Lawrence asked.
Fran chuckled slightly. Perhaps it was a bit embarrassing for her. "I was a girl obsessed, I realize now."
She had planned to die.
The bloodstained scriptures and the letters pressed between the pages.
Fran's determination to find the legend of the angel could also have been called an obsession.
If those with claws and fangs are the first to die, then she truly might have been the very vanguard. And it was precisely that quality that had finally led her to the angel. But what she had thought at the end of her journey, Lawrence did not know. He did not know, but her face was beautifully peaceful now.
"We still haven't gotten that map from you," Lawrence prodded, which Fran turned away at, pouting.
The line of her chin in the moonlight shone like a sharpened knife. "More than once I've seen merchants venture out onto the battlefield in their efforts to be repaid."
"So are you saying I'll have to pass through the gates of heaven to get it?"
Fran closed her eyes, catlike. As Lawrence approached the bed, she opened them and fixed their dark pupils on him.
"Unfortunately, the scriptures say it's easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a merchant to reach heaven," Lawrence said.
He reached across her and gently closed the window. Her face had looked slightly pained in the moonlight that shone through the open space.
"I'm afraid the same is true for me. I couldn't pass through the gates."
"So how about it, then? Helping others is a good way to atone for sins."
Fran smiled and then sunk slowly deeper into the covers.
It was probably still fairly painful for her to move, and she held up a hand to stop Lawrence from helping.
"If I let a merchant help me, who knows how many maps I'll end up having to draw." Her mischievous smile reminded him of a certain someone.
But then the supine Fran reached her right hand out. The same hand that had reached for the angel that appeared at the top of the falls.
"Payment for one," said Fran. She had probably picked up such affectations in her time with the mercenary troop.
Lawrence did not mind it. "I'll pay that." He took her hand and held it firmly.
If she had been a simple town girl, this was where he would have gone to kiss it. But Fran had no need for such things.
"God's protection be with you."
Having received such a meaningful blessing, Lawrence released her hand and tipped an invisible hat.
Fran nodded and slowly closed her eyes.
But as Lawrence turned to quietly leave the room, she spoke to him.
"Back then..."
"Hmm?"
"Back then, on the falls..."
Lawrence turned around. "On the falls?" he prompted, still smiling.
Knowing Fran, she would have noticed his mask. But she offered nothing more. "Never mind," she said, adding, "I suppose it was my imagination."
"Good night."
He left the room, and there was Holo.
Lawrence pretended not to notice her and went to the next room. She followed him in.
He closed the door, and the moon was the only light there at the beginning of the quiet night.
***
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | It was the sort of story that was swapped over drinks, but considering what they had just been through, it seemed appropriate.
"It's cold."
"You should soothe fresh wounds with cold and old ones with heat."
It seemed a rough method but probably an effective one. Lawrence preferred not to need the knowledge in the first place, if possible.
Chaplain—Fran had that title.
"I had always thought to end my travels once I saw the angel."
Blue moonlight streamed in through the open window, and her body itself seemed about ready to turn into light motes and disappear.
She was luridly wrapped in bandages around her middle and over her shoulder, and the fever she had borne in Taussig had broken. And yet not once had Fran appeared even slightly weak.
Had she been unable to manage at least this much, she never would have been employed as a chaplain, responsible for the faith and morale of an entire troop.
"By travels, you mean...?" Lawrence asked.
Fran chuckled slightly. Perhaps it was a bit embarrassing for her. "I was a girl obsessed, I realize now."
She had planned to die.
The bloodstained scriptures and the letters pressed between the pages.
Fran's determination to find the legend of the angel could also have been called an obsession.
If those with claws and fangs are the first to die, then she truly might have been the very vanguard. And it was precisely that quality that had finally led her to the angel. But what she had thought at the end of her journey, Lawrence did not know. He did not know, but her face was beautifully peaceful now.
"We still haven't gotten that map from you," Lawrence prodded, which Fran turned away at, pouting.
The line of her chin in the moonlight shone like a sharpened knife. "More than once I've seen merchants venture out onto the battlefield in their efforts to be repaid."
"So are you saying I'll have to pass through the gates of heaven to get it?"
Fran closed her eyes, catlike. As Lawrence approached the bed, she opened them and fixed their dark pupils on him.
"Unfortunately, the scriptures say it's easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a merchant to reach heaven," Lawrence said.
He reached across her and gently closed the window. Her face had looked slightly pained in the moonlight that shone through the open space.
"I'm afraid the same is true for me. I couldn't pass through the gates."
"So how about it, then? Helping others is a good way to atone for sins."
Fran smiled and then sunk slowly deeper into the covers.
It was probably still fairly painful for her to move, and she held up a hand to stop Lawrence from helping.
"If I let a merchant help me, who knows how many maps I'll end up having to draw." Her mischievous smile reminded him of a certain someone.
But then the supine Fran reached her right hand out. The same hand that had reached for the angel that appeared at the top of the falls.
"Payment for one," said Fran. She had probably picked up such affectations in her time with the mercenary troop.
Lawrence did not mind it. "I'll pay that." He took her hand and held it firmly.
If she had been a simple town girl, this was where he would have gone to kiss it. But Fran had no need for such things.
"God's protection be with you."
Having received such a meaningful blessing, Lawrence released her hand and tipped an invisible hat.
Fran nodded and slowly closed her eyes.
But as Lawrence turned to quietly leave the room, she spoke to him.
"Back then..."
"Hmm?"
"Back then, on the falls..."
Lawrence turned around. "On the falls?" he prompted, still smiling.
Knowing Fran, she would have noticed his mask. But she offered nothing more. "Never mind," she said, adding, "I suppose it was my imagination."
"Good night."
He left the room, and there was Holo.
Lawrence pretended not to notice her and went to the next room. She followed him in.
He closed the door, and the moon was the only light there at the beginning of the quiet night.
***
| I have to admit I'm sort of impressed with myself for coming up with the plot for this volume. This may be because back when I was trying to write volume 2, I had my head in my hands, certain that there wasn't anything else to write about.
Apparently they say you have to read a hundred books to write a single volume. For Spice and Wolf, I drew on forty or fifty. The rest are...let's just say they're off set by Holo's ears and tail.
It's only been three months since the last volume, so not much has changed in my life, but I did visit Okinawa for nine days during the writing of volume 12. It was a writing trip I took with a fellow author friend. I was worried that nine days trapped in a small room would make things tense during the bottom half of the trip, but things were surprisingly peaceful. I credit the Awamori liquor and Ishigaki beef.
We'd get up in the morning, have breakfast, write, have lunch, write, nap, go swimming at the beach in front of the hotel, have dinner, write, and sleep. Th at was pretty much the routine. At one point we rented a car and drove to a beach farther away. At said beach, there were many people who just load up their car with a futon, a tent, and a dog and travel around Japan. I had no idea there was such a culture in Japan. Riding around on a motorcycle with a guitar strapped to your back— even light novel characters are a little better behaved than that.
We felt like we didn't want to lose to these guys, so we made plans to go to Paris next time or maybe some country in the south.
But if possible, I think I'd like to go in a state of cleanliness—having finished my work.
Now then, by the time this volume comes out, the second season of the anime should be reaching its peak, I think. I'll be enjoying that as I make preparations to write the next volume.
We shall meet again!
Perhaps in the autumn?
Isuna Hasekura
***
Even in a medium-small town, the luxuries of the location, which informed a decision to stay or push on, varied widely based on the town's status as a trading hub.
In this one, there were mountains and forests nearby, from which flowed a beautiful river. And being blessed with fertile soil, the town fairly overflowed with agricultural bounty.
Hardy crops sold at a healthy price, and the resulting healthy profits led to a bountiful lifestyle, which in turn made bountiful harvests all the easier.
This town was a perfect exemplar of this virtuous cycle, and come winter, it brimmed with a variety of goods, along with merchants come to buy the same, travelers laying in provisions, and entertainers and priests alike looking to practice their arts on the abundant visitors.
The marketplace in such a town's center was always raucous with this activity, as were the areas surrounding it filled with the hustle and bustle of townspeople plying their trades. Cobblers and tailors. Money changers running their businesses out of their wagons. Smiths selling travelers much-needed knives and swords—all were doing a flourishing business.
Look to the left or look to the right—everywhere were people, people, people.
Moreover, depending on the wind, delicious scents came wafting by—baked bread, frying fish—and one could hardly be blamed for being drawn to their sources, especially if days and days had been spent on the road in the cold, dry winter air, all the while eating nothing but stale bread and bad wine.
Perhaps unwilling to beg Lawrence to stop in front of every single stall they passed, Holo sat next to him in the wagon's driver's seat, clinging to his sleeve.
"Hare...catfish...roasted chestnuts...sausage..." She intoned every food they passed, like a child reciting words she had memorized.
If given leave to sample the goods as she pleased, Holo could surely spend a full gold coin in a mere three days.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | I have to admit I'm sort of impressed with myself for coming up with the plot for this volume. This may be because back when I was trying to write volume 2, I had my head in my hands, certain that there wasn't anything else to write about.
Apparently they say you have to read a hundred books to write a single volume. For Spice and Wolf, I drew on forty or fifty. The rest are...let's just say they're off set by Holo's ears and tail.
It's only been three months since the last volume, so not much has changed in my life, but I did visit Okinawa for nine days during the writing of volume 12. It was a writing trip I took with a fellow author friend. I was worried that nine days trapped in a small room would make things tense during the bottom half of the trip, but things were surprisingly peaceful. I credit the Awamori liquor and Ishigaki beef.
We'd get up in the morning, have breakfast, write, have lunch, write, nap, go swimming at the beach in front of the hotel, have dinner, write, and sleep. Th at was pretty much the routine. At one point we rented a car and drove to a beach farther away. At said beach, there were many people who just load up their car with a futon, a tent, and a dog and travel around Japan. I had no idea there was such a culture in Japan. Riding around on a motorcycle with a guitar strapped to your back— even light novel characters are a little better behaved than that.
We felt like we didn't want to lose to these guys, so we made plans to go to Paris next time or maybe some country in the south.
But if possible, I think I'd like to go in a state of cleanliness—having finished my work.
Now then, by the time this volume comes out, the second season of the anime should be reaching its peak, I think. I'll be enjoying that as I make preparations to write the next volume.
We shall meet again!
Perhaps in the autumn?
Isuna Hasekura
***
Even in a medium-small town, the luxuries of the location, which informed a decision to stay or push on, varied widely based on the town's status as a trading hub.
In this one, there were mountains and forests nearby, from which flowed a beautiful river. And being blessed with fertile soil, the town fairly overflowed with agricultural bounty.
Hardy crops sold at a healthy price, and the resulting healthy profits led to a bountiful lifestyle, which in turn made bountiful harvests all the easier.
This town was a perfect exemplar of this virtuous cycle, and come winter, it brimmed with a variety of goods, along with merchants come to buy the same, travelers laying in provisions, and entertainers and priests alike looking to practice their arts on the abundant visitors.
The marketplace in such a town's center was always raucous with this activity, as were the areas surrounding it filled with the hustle and bustle of townspeople plying their trades. Cobblers and tailors. Money changers running their businesses out of their wagons. Smiths selling travelers much-needed knives and swords—all were doing a flourishing business.
Look to the left or look to the right—everywhere were people, people, people.
Moreover, depending on the wind, delicious scents came wafting by—baked bread, frying fish—and one could hardly be blamed for being drawn to their sources, especially if days and days had been spent on the road in the cold, dry winter air, all the while eating nothing but stale bread and bad wine.
Perhaps unwilling to beg Lawrence to stop in front of every single stall they passed, Holo sat next to him in the wagon's driver's seat, clinging to his sleeve.
"Hare...catfish...roasted chestnuts...sausage..." She intoned every food they passed, like a child reciting words she had memorized.
If given leave to sample the goods as she pleased, Holo could surely spend a full gold coin in a mere three days.
| Children licking their fingers gathered around, as did travelers, all anticipating a tasty treat.
"...I want to eat something like that myself, once...just once," said Holo wistfully, noticing Lawrence's glance at the sight and evidently deciding it was an opportune moment to speak up.
Lawrence merely straightened and cleared his throat. "If my memory is to be trusted, I'm quite sure I treated you to a whole roasted piglet at one point." Holo had devoured it entirely on her own, getting her hands, mouth, and even her hair covered in grease.
It was unlikely she had forgotten the experience, Lawrence thought, but Holo merely arranged herself in the driver's seat.
"Such a thing would fill my belly for only so long."
"...Perhaps, but there's no way you could eat an entire roast pig." It was not impossible that it weighed more than she did. Lawrence wondered if she would claim a readiness to assume her true form in order to manage the feat. Such would have been a serious case of misplaced priorities, but Holo only looked at Lawrence as though he were a very great fool.
"That is not what I am saying," she said.
"Then what?" Lawrence asked. He truly did not understand the point at which Holo was angling.
"You don't get it? You're a merchant, yet you don't understand the wishes of another?" A certain amount of pity colored her expression, which wounded his merchant's pride more than being called a fool or a dunce possibly could.
"H-hang on." Lawrence could not let this stand.
Pigs. Pork. A piglet being insufficient for her. Given the way she had just spoken, this was not about meat.
"Ah."
"Oh?" Holo cocked her head, as though wondering whether he had figured it out.
"I suppose you didn't get enough of the skin, then?"
"...Wha...?"
"It's true, there's less of it on a piglet. Still, well-roasted pork skin...it's a luxury, that's for certain. It's crunchy, and when eaten with the meat, the oil spreads out in your mouth, and it's even better with a good amount of salt..."
"Fwa!" Holo had been watching Lawrence with her mouth wide-open. She hastily wiped the drool from it and then looked away sullenly.
It was cruel talk to subject her to, after so many days of nothing but dry bread, salty pickled cabbage, and garlic. But from the way Holo coughed two or three times and wiped her mouth as though ridding it of an irritation, his guess had been off the mark.
The expression displayed under her hood was most displeased as well.
"What, that wasn't it?"
"Not even close. Still...," Holo said, wiping her mouth one more time and pulling her chin in. "That does sound rather tasty..."
"Well, you can't get the skin unless you order a whole roast pig, and even with the two of us eating, too much meat would go to waste. I've even heard of nobles eating nothing but the skin and throwing the meat away, but..."
"Oh ho." Holo was always serious when discussing food.
Lawrence smiled in spite of himself. "So," he continued. "What could it be, then? You're not satisfied with a piglet, which means..."
"Mm?"
"It's not the skin, right? Sausage, then? Or boiled liver? That's not my favorite, but liver can be quite popular."
For a moment, Lawrence wondered if she meant she wanted to eat the item in question raw on the spot. She was a wolf, after all; but if they asked for a whole pig liver raw, they would instantly be suspected of being pagans, and the Church would be notified.
Still.
"Fool," said Holo abruptly, as though to negate everything he was thinking. "You truly are a fool."
"I don't think someone who drools at every mention of food should be talking...," he said, earning an immediate pinch to his thigh. Holo seemed determined to give him something to regret if he was going to lead her on with talk of food.
Just as Lawrence was reflecting on having teased her too much, Holo sneered at him. "Even I don't have such a large stomach. A piglet is more than enough for me," she grumbled.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Children licking their fingers gathered around, as did travelers, all anticipating a tasty treat.
"...I want to eat something like that myself, once...just once," said Holo wistfully, noticing Lawrence's glance at the sight and evidently deciding it was an opportune moment to speak up.
Lawrence merely straightened and cleared his throat. "If my memory is to be trusted, I'm quite sure I treated you to a whole roasted piglet at one point." Holo had devoured it entirely on her own, getting her hands, mouth, and even her hair covered in grease.
It was unlikely she had forgotten the experience, Lawrence thought, but Holo merely arranged herself in the driver's seat.
"Such a thing would fill my belly for only so long."
"...Perhaps, but there's no way you could eat an entire roast pig." It was not impossible that it weighed more than she did. Lawrence wondered if she would claim a readiness to assume her true form in order to manage the feat. Such would have been a serious case of misplaced priorities, but Holo only looked at Lawrence as though he were a very great fool.
"That is not what I am saying," she said.
"Then what?" Lawrence asked. He truly did not understand the point at which Holo was angling.
"You don't get it? You're a merchant, yet you don't understand the wishes of another?" A certain amount of pity colored her expression, which wounded his merchant's pride more than being called a fool or a dunce possibly could.
"H-hang on." Lawrence could not let this stand.
Pigs. Pork. A piglet being insufficient for her. Given the way she had just spoken, this was not about meat.
"Ah."
"Oh?" Holo cocked her head, as though wondering whether he had figured it out.
"I suppose you didn't get enough of the skin, then?"
"...Wha...?"
"It's true, there's less of it on a piglet. Still, well-roasted pork skin...it's a luxury, that's for certain. It's crunchy, and when eaten with the meat, the oil spreads out in your mouth, and it's even better with a good amount of salt..."
"Fwa!" Holo had been watching Lawrence with her mouth wide-open. She hastily wiped the drool from it and then looked away sullenly.
It was cruel talk to subject her to, after so many days of nothing but dry bread, salty pickled cabbage, and garlic. But from the way Holo coughed two or three times and wiped her mouth as though ridding it of an irritation, his guess had been off the mark.
The expression displayed under her hood was most displeased as well.
"What, that wasn't it?"
"Not even close. Still...," Holo said, wiping her mouth one more time and pulling her chin in. "That does sound rather tasty..."
"Well, you can't get the skin unless you order a whole roast pig, and even with the two of us eating, too much meat would go to waste. I've even heard of nobles eating nothing but the skin and throwing the meat away, but..."
"Oh ho." Holo was always serious when discussing food.
Lawrence smiled in spite of himself. "So," he continued. "What could it be, then? You're not satisfied with a piglet, which means..."
"Mm?"
"It's not the skin, right? Sausage, then? Or boiled liver? That's not my favorite, but liver can be quite popular."
For a moment, Lawrence wondered if she meant she wanted to eat the item in question raw on the spot. She was a wolf, after all; but if they asked for a whole pig liver raw, they would instantly be suspected of being pagans, and the Church would be notified.
Still.
"Fool," said Holo abruptly, as though to negate everything he was thinking. "You truly are a fool."
"I don't think someone who drools at every mention of food should be talking...," he said, earning an immediate pinch to his thigh. Holo seemed determined to give him something to regret if he was going to lead her on with talk of food.
Just as Lawrence was reflecting on having teased her too much, Holo sneered at him. "Even I don't have such a large stomach. A piglet is more than enough for me," she grumbled.
| He thought back again, and the answer came to him quite readily.
Looking at Holo's forward-facing, irritated profile, Lawrence laughed a quiet, defeated laugh. "So you want us to go together and have a meal we can't possibly finish, is that it?"
Holo glanced at him, then smiled a bashful smile. It was enough to make Lawrence want to pick her up in his arms.
Wolves felt lonely so very easily, after all.
"You see, then?"
So, a meal tonight, too big for them to eat?
When Holo smiled, her fangs were slightly visible behind her lips. Lawrence got the feeling he had seen something he should not have and hastily looked ahead. He did not want to erase Holo's smile, and her proposal was a very charming one.
However, such greed was the enemy of the merchant. An enjoyable meal came at a very unenjoyable price. Showing generosity like this was all well and good, but if it became a habit, it would soon be a problem.
Did this make him a miserly person? No, no—as a merchant, he was right.
Lawrence gripped the reins as he argued with himself, tightly enough for them to creak audibly. And then, he noticed something.
Beside him Holo was doubled over as she tried to restrain her laughter.
***
Her tail swished to and fro from the effort.
Irritated, Lawrence looked ahead, which made Holo burst out laughing. In the busy, bustling town, nobody noticed the laughter of one girl on a lone wagon.
So Lawrence decided not to notice it, either. No, indeed, he would not. He swore to himself in no uncertain terms that he would ignore her. And yet he was perfectly aware that this action would itself amuse her to no end.
Once Holo had finished her laughter at the expense of his tortured thought processes, she wiped the corners of her eyes—not her mouth. "My thanks for the meal!"
"You're quite welcome," Lawrence answered with sincerity.
"What? No rooms?"
The first floor of the inn was set up to serve light meals, and now, shortly before sunset, it was already raucous with activity.
A thick ledger book in one hand, the innkeeper scratched his head apologetically with his other. "There have just been so many people recently. My apologies, truly..."
"So it'll be like this at the other inns, too?"
"Reckon it will. Times like this, it makes me wish the guild would loosen their rules a bit, but..."
The more people the owners could pack in, the more profit an inn stood to make, so profit was generally limited by the number of boarders. But if an inn was overcrowded, the building could collapse or disease could break out. Such conditions also made it easier for untoward professionals like thieves and fortune-tellers to mingle, so restrictions on the number of guests tended to be very strict.
For a guild member, defying the guild was like defying a king.
The innkeeper closed the thick ledger. "If you'd like some food, that much I can manage," he offered remorsefully.
"We'll come again later."
The innkeeper nodded in lieu of a reply, perhaps too used to hearing such promises. Given how crowded it was, there was no chance a room would open up, so Lawrence returned to the wagon. He faced Holo and wordlessly shook his head.
Quite accustomed to travel herself, Holo nodded, as if to say she had expected as much. But under her hood, her features were showing a bit of strain.
Well versed in this scenario, she was no doubt already imagining the camp they would have to make at the outskirts of the town if they failed to find a room. To avoid that, the only option was to find a place to park the wagon and borrow some bedclothes—someplace like a stable, a trading company, or a church.
That would have been easier enough in a larger town, but in this middling one? It was hard to say.
If they did not find a place to park the wagon by the time the market closed and the sun set, they would just have to leave town again, as Holo was fearing. Lawrence would not have minded this so much had he been alone, but it was more troublesome now that Holo was with him.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He thought back again, and the answer came to him quite readily.
Looking at Holo's forward-facing, irritated profile, Lawrence laughed a quiet, defeated laugh. "So you want us to go together and have a meal we can't possibly finish, is that it?"
Holo glanced at him, then smiled a bashful smile. It was enough to make Lawrence want to pick her up in his arms.
Wolves felt lonely so very easily, after all.
"You see, then?"
So, a meal tonight, too big for them to eat?
When Holo smiled, her fangs were slightly visible behind her lips. Lawrence got the feeling he had seen something he should not have and hastily looked ahead. He did not want to erase Holo's smile, and her proposal was a very charming one.
However, such greed was the enemy of the merchant. An enjoyable meal came at a very unenjoyable price. Showing generosity like this was all well and good, but if it became a habit, it would soon be a problem.
Did this make him a miserly person? No, no—as a merchant, he was right.
Lawrence gripped the reins as he argued with himself, tightly enough for them to creak audibly. And then, he noticed something.
Beside him Holo was doubled over as she tried to restrain her laughter.
***
Her tail swished to and fro from the effort.
Irritated, Lawrence looked ahead, which made Holo burst out laughing. In the busy, bustling town, nobody noticed the laughter of one girl on a lone wagon.
So Lawrence decided not to notice it, either. No, indeed, he would not. He swore to himself in no uncertain terms that he would ignore her. And yet he was perfectly aware that this action would itself amuse her to no end.
Once Holo had finished her laughter at the expense of his tortured thought processes, she wiped the corners of her eyes—not her mouth. "My thanks for the meal!"
"You're quite welcome," Lawrence answered with sincerity.
"What? No rooms?"
The first floor of the inn was set up to serve light meals, and now, shortly before sunset, it was already raucous with activity.
A thick ledger book in one hand, the innkeeper scratched his head apologetically with his other. "There have just been so many people recently. My apologies, truly..."
"So it'll be like this at the other inns, too?"
"Reckon it will. Times like this, it makes me wish the guild would loosen their rules a bit, but..."
The more people the owners could pack in, the more profit an inn stood to make, so profit was generally limited by the number of boarders. But if an inn was overcrowded, the building could collapse or disease could break out. Such conditions also made it easier for untoward professionals like thieves and fortune-tellers to mingle, so restrictions on the number of guests tended to be very strict.
For a guild member, defying the guild was like defying a king.
The innkeeper closed the thick ledger. "If you'd like some food, that much I can manage," he offered remorsefully.
"We'll come again later."
The innkeeper nodded in lieu of a reply, perhaps too used to hearing such promises. Given how crowded it was, there was no chance a room would open up, so Lawrence returned to the wagon. He faced Holo and wordlessly shook his head.
Quite accustomed to travel herself, Holo nodded, as if to say she had expected as much. But under her hood, her features were showing a bit of strain.
Well versed in this scenario, she was no doubt already imagining the camp they would have to make at the outskirts of the town if they failed to find a room. To avoid that, the only option was to find a place to park the wagon and borrow some bedclothes—someplace like a stable, a trading company, or a church.
That would have been easier enough in a larger town, but in this middling one? It was hard to say.
If they did not find a place to park the wagon by the time the market closed and the sun set, they would just have to leave town again, as Holo was fearing. Lawrence would not have minded this so much had he been alone, but it was more troublesome now that Holo was with him.
| Holding on to that hope, Lawrence continued down the inn-lined street.
The second and third turned him away, and he arrived at the fourth just in time to see the people in front of him refused.
When he returned to the wagon, Holo seemed to have already given up and was loosening her bootlaces and belt in the wagon bed.
If he tried the fifth inn, the result would be the same surely.
Yet there was a great difference between having a roof and lacking one.
He pulled on the reins and wheeled the wagon about, threading a path through the hustle and bustle of people hurrying to finish the day's work. In times like these, he envied those with a home to return to so much it angered him, and he felt a terrible misery at not being able to gain so much as a shabby inn's room.
Perhaps noticing his frustration, Holo purposefully drew close to him. Pathetically, he felt himself relax all over. Despite it all, he did have Holo by his side.
Lawrence stroked her head through the hood, and she smiled, ticklish.
It was a single, simple moment in their travel. And then, just then—
"They'll be ready to eat in a week, I hear," came a voice from alongside the wagon.
On the crowded street, there was little difference between wagon-drawn traffic and walking, so it was easy to overhear other conversations. From the white dust on the men's faces and arms, Lawrence inferred that they were bakers taking a break from their work.
They seemed to be talking about a shop somewhere along the street.
"Ah, you're talking about what the young master of the Ohm Company said? Still, I'm surprised the boss would accept the work of someone like that. And then to order us to put it on the bread we bake? Absurd, I say!"
"Now, now. He pays us well and buys up the finest wheat bread we can bake. Even you like kneading the best wheat flour there is sometimes, eh?"
"Aye, I suppose...still..."
The one man seemed displeased with the item orders placed by a certain trading company's young master. Bakers were a famously proud lot, even among craftsmen, so the order had to be something that went against his professional standards.
It took long, hard effort to become a craftsman, and then there was a final test to become a master—covering everything from the weighing of flour to the difficult techniques necessary for shaping the dough for rolls. Given all that, they seemed to be discussing the matter at hand in the light of exceptional professional pride.
But what was this bread being topped with?
Still leaning against Lawrence, Holo was very still, he could tell, as she listened carefully.
Lawrence followed the bakers' gazes to their end, where the street was lined with the eaves of building after building.
There was a candlemaker, a tallow seller, a needle maker, a button maker. Of those, only the tallow seller sold anything edible, and Lawrence could not imagine they were baking bread topped with hunks of fat.
Then the answer came into his vision.
The apothecary's shop.
One of the presumable bakers spoke, and everything was made clear. "Our bread's at its tastiest when eaten alone! It's a mistake to put such stuff on it. And anyway, it's too expensive. Do the things turn into gold when preserved in honey? It's absurd!"
"Ha-ha. You're just complaining because you can't afford it yourself?"
"L-like hell I am! I've no interest in the stuff! Honeyed peach preserves? Bah!"
Lawrence's gaze flicked back to Holo, whose ears pricked up as though they had been poked with a needle. He would not have been surprised had they shot right through her hood.
Holo did not move. She was very, very still. But this was not some surprising display of self-control. It was quite the opposite.
Her tail lashed to and fro beneath her robe almost painfully, as though it had been lit on fire. Pride, reason, and gluttony all warred within her in a terrible tug-of-war.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Holding on to that hope, Lawrence continued down the inn-lined street.
The second and third turned him away, and he arrived at the fourth just in time to see the people in front of him refused.
When he returned to the wagon, Holo seemed to have already given up and was loosening her bootlaces and belt in the wagon bed.
If he tried the fifth inn, the result would be the same surely.
Yet there was a great difference between having a roof and lacking one.
He pulled on the reins and wheeled the wagon about, threading a path through the hustle and bustle of people hurrying to finish the day's work. In times like these, he envied those with a home to return to so much it angered him, and he felt a terrible misery at not being able to gain so much as a shabby inn's room.
Perhaps noticing his frustration, Holo purposefully drew close to him. Pathetically, he felt himself relax all over. Despite it all, he did have Holo by his side.
Lawrence stroked her head through the hood, and she smiled, ticklish.
It was a single, simple moment in their travel. And then, just then—
"They'll be ready to eat in a week, I hear," came a voice from alongside the wagon.
On the crowded street, there was little difference between wagon-drawn traffic and walking, so it was easy to overhear other conversations. From the white dust on the men's faces and arms, Lawrence inferred that they were bakers taking a break from their work.
They seemed to be talking about a shop somewhere along the street.
"Ah, you're talking about what the young master of the Ohm Company said? Still, I'm surprised the boss would accept the work of someone like that. And then to order us to put it on the bread we bake? Absurd, I say!"
"Now, now. He pays us well and buys up the finest wheat bread we can bake. Even you like kneading the best wheat flour there is sometimes, eh?"
"Aye, I suppose...still..."
The one man seemed displeased with the item orders placed by a certain trading company's young master. Bakers were a famously proud lot, even among craftsmen, so the order had to be something that went against his professional standards.
It took long, hard effort to become a craftsman, and then there was a final test to become a master—covering everything from the weighing of flour to the difficult techniques necessary for shaping the dough for rolls. Given all that, they seemed to be discussing the matter at hand in the light of exceptional professional pride.
But what was this bread being topped with?
Still leaning against Lawrence, Holo was very still, he could tell, as she listened carefully.
Lawrence followed the bakers' gazes to their end, where the street was lined with the eaves of building after building.
There was a candlemaker, a tallow seller, a needle maker, a button maker. Of those, only the tallow seller sold anything edible, and Lawrence could not imagine they were baking bread topped with hunks of fat.
Then the answer came into his vision.
The apothecary's shop.
One of the presumable bakers spoke, and everything was made clear. "Our bread's at its tastiest when eaten alone! It's a mistake to put such stuff on it. And anyway, it's too expensive. Do the things turn into gold when preserved in honey? It's absurd!"
"Ha-ha. You're just complaining because you can't afford it yourself?"
"L-like hell I am! I've no interest in the stuff! Honeyed peach preserves? Bah!"
Lawrence's gaze flicked back to Holo, whose ears pricked up as though they had been poked with a needle. He would not have been surprised had they shot right through her hood.
Holo did not move. She was very, very still. But this was not some surprising display of self-control. It was quite the opposite.
Her tail lashed to and fro beneath her robe almost painfully, as though it had been lit on fire. Pride, reason, and gluttony all warred within her in a terrible tug-of-war.
| He wondered if it would be best to pretend nothing had happened.
The thought occurred to him for the merest instant, but the fact that Holo continued to simply sit there, not begging or pleading, was itself rather terrifying.
If he was truly a skilled negotiator, then this would be the time to prove it. If his opponent would just say something, it would give him the chance to refute or deflect it. But so long as there was nothing, he had no room to maneuver.
"S-seems like it'll be cold tonight," said Lawrence, scattering some conversational bait.
Holo said nothing.
This was serious.
Lawrence thought about the roasted pigskin. Anyone would be desperate, after making it all the way to a town only to be confronted with another cold night and a meal of bad bread and bad wine.
At the very least, the food situation could be remedied.
But honeyed peach preserves came at such a price. Would a single peach be ten trenni pieces? Or twenty?
It struck Lawrence as an absurd price, but it was true that he was capable of paying it. His coin purse could manage it, and there was Holo's smile to consider.
Her silence was without her usual teasing and mischief.
In the end, Lawrence chose her.
"...I suppose it can't be helped. Let's visit the apothecary and see if we can't find something to warm ourselves."
Holo remained motionless. Motionless, yes, but her ears and tail quivered with a puppy's glee.
The apothecary sold medicine, as one might expect, but also dealt in a variety of other goods.
In a town, the cobbler sold shoes and the tailor clothes, and generally the various guilds stayed in their own territories. Thus, the tailor could only also alter clothes, and a cobbler repair only shoes. A tallow seller could not sell bread, nor could a fishmonger sell meat.
By this logic, an apothecary ought to have only sold medicine, but it was common sense that offering a wider variety of goods brought in more customers, as any merchant knew perfectly well.
Thus, apothecaries would use all sorts of convoluted logic to pull in a great variety of goods. The products most likely to cause quarrels with other shops were none other than spices. Apothecaries would claim all sorts of spices were good for inducing sweat or lowering fevers, and thus qualified as medicine they could sell.
Extending that logic, anything good for one's health also counted as medicine, and thus it was that apothecaries had become the chief dealers in honey.
The only other merchants who dealt in honey were the candlemakers, who sold beeswax candles.
It was difficult for traveling merchants—who dealt in anything and everything money could buy—to understand the turf wars between town merchants. But it was thanks to those turf wars that there was such an array of honeyed preserves lined up before them.
Plum, pear, raspberry, turnip, garlic, pork, beef, hare, mutton, carp, barracuda—these were just the ones that sprung to mind.
When preserving food, one could use salt, vinegar, ice—or honey. During this time of year, when the end of the long winter was yet far away, the prices of these preserves were at their highest. The contents of the bottles and barrels here, each labeled with a hasty scribble, would all fetch a good price.
Among all those lined-up goods, there was one that outshone all the rest. In the farthest corner of the shop behind the shopkeeper, enshrined on a shelf beside the pepper, saffron, and sugar, was an amber-colored bottle.
No sooner had they entered the shop than Holo's gaze was fixed upon it.
"Welcome," said the bearded shopkeeper, looking from Lawrence to Holo.
He noticed that Holo's attention had been captured by something, so next he checked her manner of dress. One of his long eyebrows lifted minutely—the girl was well dressed, but not the man.
Whether or not he had concluded that even if they were here to shop, they would not be buying anything expensive, his tone was disinterested as he asked, "Are you looking for anything?"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He wondered if it would be best to pretend nothing had happened.
The thought occurred to him for the merest instant, but the fact that Holo continued to simply sit there, not begging or pleading, was itself rather terrifying.
If he was truly a skilled negotiator, then this would be the time to prove it. If his opponent would just say something, it would give him the chance to refute or deflect it. But so long as there was nothing, he had no room to maneuver.
"S-seems like it'll be cold tonight," said Lawrence, scattering some conversational bait.
Holo said nothing.
This was serious.
Lawrence thought about the roasted pigskin. Anyone would be desperate, after making it all the way to a town only to be confronted with another cold night and a meal of bad bread and bad wine.
At the very least, the food situation could be remedied.
But honeyed peach preserves came at such a price. Would a single peach be ten trenni pieces? Or twenty?
It struck Lawrence as an absurd price, but it was true that he was capable of paying it. His coin purse could manage it, and there was Holo's smile to consider.
Her silence was without her usual teasing and mischief.
In the end, Lawrence chose her.
"...I suppose it can't be helped. Let's visit the apothecary and see if we can't find something to warm ourselves."
Holo remained motionless. Motionless, yes, but her ears and tail quivered with a puppy's glee.
The apothecary sold medicine, as one might expect, but also dealt in a variety of other goods.
In a town, the cobbler sold shoes and the tailor clothes, and generally the various guilds stayed in their own territories. Thus, the tailor could only also alter clothes, and a cobbler repair only shoes. A tallow seller could not sell bread, nor could a fishmonger sell meat.
By this logic, an apothecary ought to have only sold medicine, but it was common sense that offering a wider variety of goods brought in more customers, as any merchant knew perfectly well.
Thus, apothecaries would use all sorts of convoluted logic to pull in a great variety of goods. The products most likely to cause quarrels with other shops were none other than spices. Apothecaries would claim all sorts of spices were good for inducing sweat or lowering fevers, and thus qualified as medicine they could sell.
Extending that logic, anything good for one's health also counted as medicine, and thus it was that apothecaries had become the chief dealers in honey.
The only other merchants who dealt in honey were the candlemakers, who sold beeswax candles.
It was difficult for traveling merchants—who dealt in anything and everything money could buy—to understand the turf wars between town merchants. But it was thanks to those turf wars that there was such an array of honeyed preserves lined up before them.
Plum, pear, raspberry, turnip, garlic, pork, beef, hare, mutton, carp, barracuda—these were just the ones that sprung to mind.
When preserving food, one could use salt, vinegar, ice—or honey. During this time of year, when the end of the long winter was yet far away, the prices of these preserves were at their highest. The contents of the bottles and barrels here, each labeled with a hasty scribble, would all fetch a good price.
Among all those lined-up goods, there was one that outshone all the rest. In the farthest corner of the shop behind the shopkeeper, enshrined on a shelf beside the pepper, saffron, and sugar, was an amber-colored bottle.
No sooner had they entered the shop than Holo's gaze was fixed upon it.
"Welcome," said the bearded shopkeeper, looking from Lawrence to Holo.
He noticed that Holo's attention had been captured by something, so next he checked her manner of dress. One of his long eyebrows lifted minutely—the girl was well dressed, but not the man.
Whether or not he had concluded that even if they were here to shop, they would not be buying anything expensive, his tone was disinterested as he asked, "Are you looking for anything?"
| "Ginger's on that shelf."
The rest of Lawrence's sentence was cut off in his throat, and there it vanished. If that's all you're here for, buy it and get out, the shopkeeper seemed to be saying. Lawrence did as he was told and looked over the ginger on the shelf, deciding on a honey-preserved variety. It was cheap but good for eating while huddled under blankets with nothing else to do.
But then he noticed Holo's gaze on him—as though asking him, We've come to this place after all that talk, and after raising my expectations like this, you can't just give up.
And of course, Lawrence had no intention of doing so.
It was too easy to buy Holo's favor with food, and Holo herself found it tiresome on occasion. But when it came to honeyed peach preserves, things were different.
They had come up in conversation several times before, but as yet Lawrence had been unable to buy any. There was the matter of the high cost, of course, but more often than not they had simply been unavailable.
So perhaps that was why Holo's enchantment with the food now wafted off of her in waves.
Lawrence walked past the vibrating Holo to the shopkeeper to have him portion out some of the ginger preserves and pay. He was obviously going to start bargaining, but—
"That'll be ten ryut."
Lawrence paid and wordlessly took the goods. Behind him he could feel Holo staring, stunned.
His eyes fixed upon the figure written on the label of the amber-colored bottle. One fruit for one lumione, or around thirty-five silver trenni.
For a moment he thought his eyes were mistaken, but no—that was indeed what was written there. The term peaches of gold was bandied about often enough, but even so—such a price!
After taking a goodly while to note what Lawrence was looking at, the shopkeeper spoke with a deliberately casual tone. "Ah, you've a good eye for quality. This year's peaches were very sweet and firm as well. The honey is the finest from Baron Ludinhild's forest. One lumione per fruit, and I've had many customers! Only three left, in fact. How about it?"
It was written on the man's face that he knew Lawrence could not purchase such a thing. In a town like this, without connections to large trading companies or urban nobility, it was outrageous to put such a price on honeyed peach preserves. That he was treating his customers with such open contempt was proof of how confident he felt in his position.
But Lawrence had the confidence that came from having completed many trades in large towns. His hand moved toward his coin purse out of irritation at being treated like some novice peddler.
It was not a sudden prideful desire to conserve money that stopped him. Rather, it was a keen understanding of exactly how many coins were within that purse, keener than any god's.
If he spent an entire lumione here, their travels might come to a premature end farther along the road. No merchant would be fool enough to keep their entire wealth on their person, so Lawrence was not carrying much on him at the moment.
Reality blocked the path to Holo's smile. Realizing this, Lawrence shook his head. "Ha-ha. Too much for me."
"Is that so? Well, come again if you change your mind."
Lawrence turned around and left the shop, and Holo followed obediently behind him. She did not raise a single word of reproach, which was somehow worse.
He felt as though he were being stalked by a wolf in a dark forest, its footsteps matching his.
He had let her get her hopes up, and then in the end, he had not bought the item of her desire, which was much worse than simply pretending not to notice from the driver's seat.
If he apologized first, it might lessen the wound, he thought; so steeling himself, he turned to her.
***
He was at a loss for words, but not because Holo's face was a mask of rage. Rather, it was quite the opposite.
"Mm? Whatever is the matter?" she asked. Her words had no particular force to them, nor was there fire in her eyes.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Ginger's on that shelf."
The rest of Lawrence's sentence was cut off in his throat, and there it vanished. If that's all you're here for, buy it and get out, the shopkeeper seemed to be saying. Lawrence did as he was told and looked over the ginger on the shelf, deciding on a honey-preserved variety. It was cheap but good for eating while huddled under blankets with nothing else to do.
But then he noticed Holo's gaze on him—as though asking him, We've come to this place after all that talk, and after raising my expectations like this, you can't just give up.
And of course, Lawrence had no intention of doing so.
It was too easy to buy Holo's favor with food, and Holo herself found it tiresome on occasion. But when it came to honeyed peach preserves, things were different.
They had come up in conversation several times before, but as yet Lawrence had been unable to buy any. There was the matter of the high cost, of course, but more often than not they had simply been unavailable.
So perhaps that was why Holo's enchantment with the food now wafted off of her in waves.
Lawrence walked past the vibrating Holo to the shopkeeper to have him portion out some of the ginger preserves and pay. He was obviously going to start bargaining, but—
"That'll be ten ryut."
Lawrence paid and wordlessly took the goods. Behind him he could feel Holo staring, stunned.
His eyes fixed upon the figure written on the label of the amber-colored bottle. One fruit for one lumione, or around thirty-five silver trenni.
For a moment he thought his eyes were mistaken, but no—that was indeed what was written there. The term peaches of gold was bandied about often enough, but even so—such a price!
After taking a goodly while to note what Lawrence was looking at, the shopkeeper spoke with a deliberately casual tone. "Ah, you've a good eye for quality. This year's peaches were very sweet and firm as well. The honey is the finest from Baron Ludinhild's forest. One lumione per fruit, and I've had many customers! Only three left, in fact. How about it?"
It was written on the man's face that he knew Lawrence could not purchase such a thing. In a town like this, without connections to large trading companies or urban nobility, it was outrageous to put such a price on honeyed peach preserves. That he was treating his customers with such open contempt was proof of how confident he felt in his position.
But Lawrence had the confidence that came from having completed many trades in large towns. His hand moved toward his coin purse out of irritation at being treated like some novice peddler.
It was not a sudden prideful desire to conserve money that stopped him. Rather, it was a keen understanding of exactly how many coins were within that purse, keener than any god's.
If he spent an entire lumione here, their travels might come to a premature end farther along the road. No merchant would be fool enough to keep their entire wealth on their person, so Lawrence was not carrying much on him at the moment.
Reality blocked the path to Holo's smile. Realizing this, Lawrence shook his head. "Ha-ha. Too much for me."
"Is that so? Well, come again if you change your mind."
Lawrence turned around and left the shop, and Holo followed obediently behind him. She did not raise a single word of reproach, which was somehow worse.
He felt as though he were being stalked by a wolf in a dark forest, its footsteps matching his.
He had let her get her hopes up, and then in the end, he had not bought the item of her desire, which was much worse than simply pretending not to notice from the driver's seat.
If he apologized first, it might lessen the wound, he thought; so steeling himself, he turned to her.
***
He was at a loss for words, but not because Holo's face was a mask of rage. Rather, it was quite the opposite.
"Mm? Whatever is the matter?" she asked. Her words had no particular force to them, nor was there fire in her eyes.
| "N-nothing..."
"I see. Well, hurry up and get on, then. Your seat's the farther one, is it not?"
"Er, yes..."
Lawrence did as he was told and climbed onto the wagon, as Holo followed closely behind him. He sat on the far side, and she settled herself down neatly next to him.
If she seemed many times larger when she was angry, then her dejection had the opposite effect. Her desire to eat the honeyed peach preserves was a terrible thing surely.
This was not the sort of case where Lawrence could laugh off her gluttony. Here in the cold, hard air, they had been surviving on nothing but stale bread and sour wine for some time. There were countless stories of a bowl of soup presented to a lost king and his troop, only to have that rewarded with a great treasure, and now he could see why.
There was no question that Holo had been deeply, sincerely looking forward to the honeyed peach preserves. And now she looked absently ahead, not even speaking a single word of frustration to him.
This had to be because she knew both the great cost of the preserves and the current state of Lawrence's coin purse.
Lawrence glanced over at her. Her body swayed with the jolts of the wagon. She seemed so absent that she might not have noticed if Lawrence were to suddenly embrace her.
The wagon trundled on.
They would probably be forced to make camp tonight. The only thing that made the hard wagon bed tolerable was knowing that a soft pillow and piles of blankets awaited their arrival in the next town.
***
Lawrence tugged on his beard with such force that it almost hurt, then closed his eyes. Perhaps he ought to turn around and slam the entire contents of his coin purse onto the apothecary's counter.
And yet even as he reconsidered it, Lawrence's hands did not pull the reins.
A whole lumione for a single peach was simply too much.
In addition to how difficult it would make continuing in their travels if he were to spend his money thus, there was the simple fact that Lawrence believed in the exchange of goods and money for a fair price.
Sweat broke out on his brow as he agonized over the impossible decision. Next to him, Holo, her shoulders slumped, hardly seemed like she could manage yet another night in the cold. The only thing that would return a smile and some good cheer to her would be the moment she could eat the coveted preserves.
He had to buy some.
Lawrence made up his mind and pulled up on the reins.
Holo noticed this and looked up at him, questioning.
One fruit for one lumione.
It was expensive, but what was that compared to Holo?
What's more, the shopkeeper said he had three fruits left. If Lawrence did not hurry, it was likely he would sell them all. Business was so good in this town that eccentric young trade masters were putting them on loaves of bread and baking them, after all. It was not at all impossible that the apothecary would sell out.
The horse neighed and stopped, and just as Lawrence made to wheel around and head back into the crowd, he realized—
"Business is...good."
Here in this town where the market was lively, travelers were many, and everyone's business was booming. The town's wealth had to be proportionate to that.
If so, Lawrence mused as he stroked his beard, the ideas in his head clicking pleasantly into place.
When the notion was complete, Lawrence took the reins up yet again and headed the wagon back in its original direction.
A man—a traveler, by the look of him—shouted in anger at Lawrence's driving, but Lawrence merely begged it off with his mask of a merchant's smile.
At this sudden change, Holo peered at him dubiously.
Lawrence gave a short answer. "Let's drop by that trading company."
"...Mm. Huh?" Holo began to make a sound of assent, but it changed into a questioning tone as it left her mouth.
But Lawrence did not reply, simply continuing to drive the wagon in the same direction.
He needed money to buy the honeyed peach preserves, and if he did not have it, he merely needed to earn it.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "N-nothing..."
"I see. Well, hurry up and get on, then. Your seat's the farther one, is it not?"
"Er, yes..."
Lawrence did as he was told and climbed onto the wagon, as Holo followed closely behind him. He sat on the far side, and she settled herself down neatly next to him.
If she seemed many times larger when she was angry, then her dejection had the opposite effect. Her desire to eat the honeyed peach preserves was a terrible thing surely.
This was not the sort of case where Lawrence could laugh off her gluttony. Here in the cold, hard air, they had been surviving on nothing but stale bread and sour wine for some time. There were countless stories of a bowl of soup presented to a lost king and his troop, only to have that rewarded with a great treasure, and now he could see why.
There was no question that Holo had been deeply, sincerely looking forward to the honeyed peach preserves. And now she looked absently ahead, not even speaking a single word of frustration to him.
This had to be because she knew both the great cost of the preserves and the current state of Lawrence's coin purse.
Lawrence glanced over at her. Her body swayed with the jolts of the wagon. She seemed so absent that she might not have noticed if Lawrence were to suddenly embrace her.
The wagon trundled on.
They would probably be forced to make camp tonight. The only thing that made the hard wagon bed tolerable was knowing that a soft pillow and piles of blankets awaited their arrival in the next town.
***
Lawrence tugged on his beard with such force that it almost hurt, then closed his eyes. Perhaps he ought to turn around and slam the entire contents of his coin purse onto the apothecary's counter.
And yet even as he reconsidered it, Lawrence's hands did not pull the reins.
A whole lumione for a single peach was simply too much.
In addition to how difficult it would make continuing in their travels if he were to spend his money thus, there was the simple fact that Lawrence believed in the exchange of goods and money for a fair price.
Sweat broke out on his brow as he agonized over the impossible decision. Next to him, Holo, her shoulders slumped, hardly seemed like she could manage yet another night in the cold. The only thing that would return a smile and some good cheer to her would be the moment she could eat the coveted preserves.
He had to buy some.
Lawrence made up his mind and pulled up on the reins.
Holo noticed this and looked up at him, questioning.
One fruit for one lumione.
It was expensive, but what was that compared to Holo?
What's more, the shopkeeper said he had three fruits left. If Lawrence did not hurry, it was likely he would sell them all. Business was so good in this town that eccentric young trade masters were putting them on loaves of bread and baking them, after all. It was not at all impossible that the apothecary would sell out.
The horse neighed and stopped, and just as Lawrence made to wheel around and head back into the crowd, he realized—
"Business is...good."
Here in this town where the market was lively, travelers were many, and everyone's business was booming. The town's wealth had to be proportionate to that.
If so, Lawrence mused as he stroked his beard, the ideas in his head clicking pleasantly into place.
When the notion was complete, Lawrence took the reins up yet again and headed the wagon back in its original direction.
A man—a traveler, by the look of him—shouted in anger at Lawrence's driving, but Lawrence merely begged it off with his mask of a merchant's smile.
At this sudden change, Holo peered at him dubiously.
Lawrence gave a short answer. "Let's drop by that trading company."
"...Mm. Huh?" Holo began to make a sound of assent, but it changed into a questioning tone as it left her mouth.
But Lawrence did not reply, simply continuing to drive the wagon in the same direction.
He needed money to buy the honeyed peach preserves, and if he did not have it, he merely needed to earn it.
| Without money, goods could not be sold, which meant that where goods were selling, money had to be flowing.
The company to which this simple notion had brought Lawrence was the sort you might find anywhere, its modest size perfectly in proportion to the size of the town. Yet it was immediately evident that for some reason, this particular organization was burdened with an excess of money.
The sky was reddening with the setting sun, and though it was the hour when craftsmen would soon be heading home, there was a great clamor of people in front of this shop.
Men ran about this way and that, their eyes darting about with exhaustion and excitement. Some—merchants, probably—held ledgers as they shouted in hoarse voices.
What they seemed to be dealing in was not wheat nor grain nor fish, nor even furs or jewels.
It was wood. And iron.
Those were the raw materials out of which parts of some kind had been constructed, along with the tools for making them.
Literal mountains of such goods were piled on the company's loading docks.
"....What is this?" murmured Holo.
They had seen many busy companies, but nothing like the strange energy that pervaded here. While other trading houses would soon be closing for the day, here it seemed as though the main event was just about to start.
"It seems to be materials for building some sort of...something. A crow's nest? No, this is..."
Lawrence did not know what the strange assemblage of parts was for. But farther in, he saw heaps of specialized goods, and something occurred to him.
No wonder this company was doing such good business. He smiled involuntarily at the thought.
Trading companies made money by buying goods, then selling them, so their biggest opportunities for profit came when they could position themselves as a supplier for a large project of some kind. They would place orders with craftsmen, collect components, and move them along, converting them into their profit margin without letting them lie idle a single night.
Lawrence could certainly understand why this young master fellow would have hit upon the notion of baking bread topped with honeyed peach preserves. He must have felt as though he had discovered a fountain of gold.
He noticed Holo return to her senses and look dubiously around her, as though understanding why this trading company was so busy but unsure why she and Lawrence were here.
"Well, then," Lawrence murmured to himself. He climbed down from the wagon and strode calmly into the trading company.
It was so busy that nobody took notice of a single outsider like Lawrence walking in. Lawrence, for his part, had essentially memorized how to act natural in such situations.
Once he spied the man who seemed to be in charge, he spoke slowly and distinctly. "Hello, there. I've heard you're shorthanded, so I've brought my vehicle."
The merchant seemed not to have slept properly in days, and his eyes swiveled to glare at Lawrence.
In his hands were a quill pen and a tattered ledger, and his right eye drooped. Lawrence continued to smile as he waited for the man's answer.
Time seemed to have frozen, but the merchant finally returned to himself and spoke. "Ah, uh, yes. We've been waiting. Just take the goods straightaway. Which wagon's yours?"
His voice was hoarse and difficult to hear, and instead of an answer, Lawrence pointed to the item in question.
"What, that?" said the merchant rather rudely, but Lawrence was not flustered.
"I was thinking it would be best to load it as heavily as possible," said Lawrence deliberately.
"Mmm, it'll be slow, though...who recommended you to us? Why, I ought to...ah, well. Fine, load up what you can and leave. Quick about it, now."
Business paralyzed all sensibilities.
Lawrence was fully aware that in situations like these, those in charge of details like who was doing what job or who was assisting whom could not even try to keep track of them. So, brazenly, he followed up with another question.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Without money, goods could not be sold, which meant that where goods were selling, money had to be flowing.
The company to which this simple notion had brought Lawrence was the sort you might find anywhere, its modest size perfectly in proportion to the size of the town. Yet it was immediately evident that for some reason, this particular organization was burdened with an excess of money.
The sky was reddening with the setting sun, and though it was the hour when craftsmen would soon be heading home, there was a great clamor of people in front of this shop.
Men ran about this way and that, their eyes darting about with exhaustion and excitement. Some—merchants, probably—held ledgers as they shouted in hoarse voices.
What they seemed to be dealing in was not wheat nor grain nor fish, nor even furs or jewels.
It was wood. And iron.
Those were the raw materials out of which parts of some kind had been constructed, along with the tools for making them.
Literal mountains of such goods were piled on the company's loading docks.
"....What is this?" murmured Holo.
They had seen many busy companies, but nothing like the strange energy that pervaded here. While other trading houses would soon be closing for the day, here it seemed as though the main event was just about to start.
"It seems to be materials for building some sort of...something. A crow's nest? No, this is..."
Lawrence did not know what the strange assemblage of parts was for. But farther in, he saw heaps of specialized goods, and something occurred to him.
No wonder this company was doing such good business. He smiled involuntarily at the thought.
Trading companies made money by buying goods, then selling them, so their biggest opportunities for profit came when they could position themselves as a supplier for a large project of some kind. They would place orders with craftsmen, collect components, and move them along, converting them into their profit margin without letting them lie idle a single night.
Lawrence could certainly understand why this young master fellow would have hit upon the notion of baking bread topped with honeyed peach preserves. He must have felt as though he had discovered a fountain of gold.
He noticed Holo return to her senses and look dubiously around her, as though understanding why this trading company was so busy but unsure why she and Lawrence were here.
"Well, then," Lawrence murmured to himself. He climbed down from the wagon and strode calmly into the trading company.
It was so busy that nobody took notice of a single outsider like Lawrence walking in. Lawrence, for his part, had essentially memorized how to act natural in such situations.
Once he spied the man who seemed to be in charge, he spoke slowly and distinctly. "Hello, there. I've heard you're shorthanded, so I've brought my vehicle."
The merchant seemed not to have slept properly in days, and his eyes swiveled to glare at Lawrence.
In his hands were a quill pen and a tattered ledger, and his right eye drooped. Lawrence continued to smile as he waited for the man's answer.
Time seemed to have frozen, but the merchant finally returned to himself and spoke. "Ah, uh, yes. We've been waiting. Just take the goods straightaway. Which wagon's yours?"
His voice was hoarse and difficult to hear, and instead of an answer, Lawrence pointed to the item in question.
"What, that?" said the merchant rather rudely, but Lawrence was not flustered.
"I was thinking it would be best to load it as heavily as possible," said Lawrence deliberately.
"Mmm, it'll be slow, though...who recommended you to us? Why, I ought to...ah, well. Fine, load up what you can and leave. Quick about it, now."
Business paralyzed all sensibilities.
Lawrence was fully aware that in situations like these, those in charge of details like who was doing what job or who was assisting whom could not even try to keep track of them. So, brazenly, he followed up with another question.
| The man was mid-yawn, and made a face like a frog who'd had an insect fly right into his mouth and swallowed it right on the spot.
He had probably been about to hurl some abuse or at least some words of shock, but was too exhausted to turn down help, whatever form it took. He pointed to a man in the far corner who was battling some parchment on a desk. "Ask that fellow over there," he spat.
Lawrence looked in the direction indicated. He scratched his head, every bit the dullard merchant. "Yes, sir, right away, sir," he said.
The man seemed to forget about Lawrence that very same instant and set about giving orders to the men working on the loading dock.
Meanwhile, Lawrence ambled over to the man at the desk to receive his work orders.
There is an old story in the northlands that goes like this.
The men of a certain village could see to the far edge of the land, and if a bird took wing beyond the clouds, they could still shoot it down with their bows. Likewise, the women of this village could smile happily no matter how cold the winter grew, and even while they slept, their hands continued to spin yarn.
One day, a mysterious traveler came to this village, and as thanks for the night he stayed there, he taught the villagers how to read and write. Up until that point, they knew nothing of writing and had relied on oral traditions to remember their history and important events. For this reason, whenever anybody died from an accident or illness, the loss was felt very keenly.
They were very thankful to the traveler.
Then, once the traveler had departed on his journey, they realized something.
The men could no longer see to the ends of the sky, and the women began to shirk their work, no longer able to do it without tiring. Only the children, who had not learned to read or write, were unaffected.
It was this story that came to Lawrence's mind as he regarded the pathetic young man who toiled drowsily away at the desk, constantly fighting off sleep as he frantically wrote.
Once the fetters of letters are around your ankles, they may as well be around your neck, went the the old phrase. Even the devil in hell would've had a little more mercy, Lawrence could not help but think.
"Excuse me," he said. Everything changed when there was money to be made.
The young merchant looked up at Lawrence like a sluggish bear. "...Yes?"
"The boss over there said that I could ask you about where these goods go and my wages as well." He was not lying. It just was not the entire truth.
The young merchant looked in the direction Lawrence indicated, then back at Lawrence, staring vacantly at him for a moment. The pen in his hand did not stop moving. It was a bit of a performance.
"Ah, er...yes, quite. Well..." Papers and parchments were piled atop the desk one over the other, even as he spoke. Perhaps they corresponded to the amount of goods that were passing through. In any case, they were many. "The destination is...Do you know Le Houaix? There are signs pointing the way, so you should be fine, but...take...those goods there. Any of those, as much as you can carry."
As the man talked, his attention seemed to drift, his eyelids drooping and his speech slowing.
"And my wages?" Lawrence asked, patting the man's shoulder, which brought him back to wakefulness with a jerk.
"Wages? Ah, of course...Er...There are labels on the goods, so...just bring those back. Each one should exchange for about...a trenni...or so...," the man murmured, the words becoming mush in his mouth as he fell forward, asleep.
He would probably be in trouble if he was caught, but Lawrence felt bad for the young man and left him be, starting to walk away.
Lawrence had only taken three steps before he turned around and shook the sleeping man awake. He'd forgotten the other reason he had come here.
"Hey, you there, wake up. Hey!"
"Huh, whuh...?"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The man was mid-yawn, and made a face like a frog who'd had an insect fly right into his mouth and swallowed it right on the spot.
He had probably been about to hurl some abuse or at least some words of shock, but was too exhausted to turn down help, whatever form it took. He pointed to a man in the far corner who was battling some parchment on a desk. "Ask that fellow over there," he spat.
Lawrence looked in the direction indicated. He scratched his head, every bit the dullard merchant. "Yes, sir, right away, sir," he said.
The man seemed to forget about Lawrence that very same instant and set about giving orders to the men working on the loading dock.
Meanwhile, Lawrence ambled over to the man at the desk to receive his work orders.
There is an old story in the northlands that goes like this.
The men of a certain village could see to the far edge of the land, and if a bird took wing beyond the clouds, they could still shoot it down with their bows. Likewise, the women of this village could smile happily no matter how cold the winter grew, and even while they slept, their hands continued to spin yarn.
One day, a mysterious traveler came to this village, and as thanks for the night he stayed there, he taught the villagers how to read and write. Up until that point, they knew nothing of writing and had relied on oral traditions to remember their history and important events. For this reason, whenever anybody died from an accident or illness, the loss was felt very keenly.
They were very thankful to the traveler.
Then, once the traveler had departed on his journey, they realized something.
The men could no longer see to the ends of the sky, and the women began to shirk their work, no longer able to do it without tiring. Only the children, who had not learned to read or write, were unaffected.
It was this story that came to Lawrence's mind as he regarded the pathetic young man who toiled drowsily away at the desk, constantly fighting off sleep as he frantically wrote.
Once the fetters of letters are around your ankles, they may as well be around your neck, went the the old phrase. Even the devil in hell would've had a little more mercy, Lawrence could not help but think.
"Excuse me," he said. Everything changed when there was money to be made.
The young merchant looked up at Lawrence like a sluggish bear. "...Yes?"
"The boss over there said that I could ask you about where these goods go and my wages as well." He was not lying. It just was not the entire truth.
The young merchant looked in the direction Lawrence indicated, then back at Lawrence, staring vacantly at him for a moment. The pen in his hand did not stop moving. It was a bit of a performance.
"Ah, er...yes, quite. Well..." Papers and parchments were piled atop the desk one over the other, even as he spoke. Perhaps they corresponded to the amount of goods that were passing through. In any case, they were many. "The destination is...Do you know Le Houaix? There are signs pointing the way, so you should be fine, but...take...those goods there. Any of those, as much as you can carry."
As the man talked, his attention seemed to drift, his eyelids drooping and his speech slowing.
"And my wages?" Lawrence asked, patting the man's shoulder, which brought him back to wakefulness with a jerk.
"Wages? Ah, of course...Er...There are labels on the goods, so...just bring those back. Each one should exchange for about...a trenni...or so...," the man murmured, the words becoming mush in his mouth as he fell forward, asleep.
He would probably be in trouble if he was caught, but Lawrence felt bad for the young man and left him be, starting to walk away.
Lawrence had only taken three steps before he turned around and shook the sleeping man awake. He'd forgotten the other reason he had come here.
"Hey, you there, wake up. Hey!"
"Huh, whuh...?"
| The man nodded, though whether it was out of exhaustion or in response to Lawrence's question was difficult to tell. He indicated farther back in the building. "The maid...is in the rear, so...ask her. You can probably get...some food, too..."
"My thanks." Lawrence gave the man a pat on the arm and left him.
Though Lawrence had done the man the favor of waking him up, he slumped immediately back into sleep—but it was no concern of Lawrence's now.
Lawrence approached the side of the wagon where Holo still sat. "I've found us a room."
Beneath her hood, her amber eyes flashed at Lawrence, and in them he could see a mixture of admiration and exasperation at his roughshod tactics. She looked away and then back, this time with a wordless question. Just what are you planning to do?
"I've got a job to do."
"A job? You—" Holo furrowed her brow and soon arrived at the answer, but Lawrence did not engage her further.
He prompted her to get down from the wagon. "They'll probably be at it all night, so it might be noisy."
Lawrence pulled on the reins with his left hand, bringing the wagon into the loading area. Given the commotion, he doubted anyone would have helped him in even if he had asked, but now that he was here, the men inside would just do their job. And indeed, the dockhands converged on the wagon, and in no time at all it was fully loaded.
Holo watched the scene, eyes wide, but then her expression began to turn steadily more displeased. She stared at him. Saying nothing, not moving.
"This'll earn us a bit of money. And a room, but..." He'd already explained what sort of room that would be.
It was clear that at this rate they faced making camp outside the town, and Lawrence wanted to give the exhausted Holo at least one night under a roof.
"We'll worry about tomorrow when it comes. For tonight, at least, let's...H-hey!"
Right in the middle of his explanation, Holo stormed off into the trading company.
She had pluck and wit enough to get herself a room, Lawrence knew. "What a bother," he muttered with a sigh, whereupon he noticed Holo—who was talking to a woman who was probably the maid—look over her shoulder and glance at him.
She moved her mouth as though she wanted to say something, but in the end did not open it. No doubt it had been some invective of some kind.
Fool.
The same word could mean very different things, depending on who said it and the circumstances surrounding the people.
Led by the maid, Holo disappeared farther into the building, alone. He had to laugh at her constant stubbornness, but he knew she was not much different from him in that regard. Lawrence was just as tired as she was, yet here he was, taking on extra work without so much as a break just so he could buy the honeyed peach preserves—the preserves upon which she had surely given up.
Lawrence climbed back atop the driver's seat and departed, the wagon bed piled high with goods. He felt a certain ticklish amusement, as though he were playing a perverse game.
Or perhaps it was what happened next that made him feel that way. As the wagon pulled away from the loading dock, he looked back and up at the building's third floor, and just then, a window opened and Holo looked out.
She had already taken out some of the honeyed ginger preserves, and putting a piece in her mouth, she leaned her chin on the windowsill.
"Truly, such a foolish male you are," her face said.
In spite of himself, Lawrence had the urge to raise a hand in a wave, but he resisted, gripping the reins and facing forward.
He gave the leathers a flick and made for the village of Le Houaix.
The merchant at the company had told Lawrence that he would know Le Houaix when he saw it, and shortly after he left the town, he knew the reason why.
The name Le Houaix was hastily scribbled on a temporary-looking wooden sign. Moreover, the town seemed to expect deliveries to continue through the night, as the path was well lit here and there by torches.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The man nodded, though whether it was out of exhaustion or in response to Lawrence's question was difficult to tell. He indicated farther back in the building. "The maid...is in the rear, so...ask her. You can probably get...some food, too..."
"My thanks." Lawrence gave the man a pat on the arm and left him.
Though Lawrence had done the man the favor of waking him up, he slumped immediately back into sleep—but it was no concern of Lawrence's now.
Lawrence approached the side of the wagon where Holo still sat. "I've found us a room."
Beneath her hood, her amber eyes flashed at Lawrence, and in them he could see a mixture of admiration and exasperation at his roughshod tactics. She looked away and then back, this time with a wordless question. Just what are you planning to do?
"I've got a job to do."
"A job? You—" Holo furrowed her brow and soon arrived at the answer, but Lawrence did not engage her further.
He prompted her to get down from the wagon. "They'll probably be at it all night, so it might be noisy."
Lawrence pulled on the reins with his left hand, bringing the wagon into the loading area. Given the commotion, he doubted anyone would have helped him in even if he had asked, but now that he was here, the men inside would just do their job. And indeed, the dockhands converged on the wagon, and in no time at all it was fully loaded.
Holo watched the scene, eyes wide, but then her expression began to turn steadily more displeased. She stared at him. Saying nothing, not moving.
"This'll earn us a bit of money. And a room, but..." He'd already explained what sort of room that would be.
It was clear that at this rate they faced making camp outside the town, and Lawrence wanted to give the exhausted Holo at least one night under a roof.
"We'll worry about tomorrow when it comes. For tonight, at least, let's...H-hey!"
Right in the middle of his explanation, Holo stormed off into the trading company.
She had pluck and wit enough to get herself a room, Lawrence knew. "What a bother," he muttered with a sigh, whereupon he noticed Holo—who was talking to a woman who was probably the maid—look over her shoulder and glance at him.
She moved her mouth as though she wanted to say something, but in the end did not open it. No doubt it had been some invective of some kind.
Fool.
The same word could mean very different things, depending on who said it and the circumstances surrounding the people.
Led by the maid, Holo disappeared farther into the building, alone. He had to laugh at her constant stubbornness, but he knew she was not much different from him in that regard. Lawrence was just as tired as she was, yet here he was, taking on extra work without so much as a break just so he could buy the honeyed peach preserves—the preserves upon which she had surely given up.
Lawrence climbed back atop the driver's seat and departed, the wagon bed piled high with goods. He felt a certain ticklish amusement, as though he were playing a perverse game.
Or perhaps it was what happened next that made him feel that way. As the wagon pulled away from the loading dock, he looked back and up at the building's third floor, and just then, a window opened and Holo looked out.
She had already taken out some of the honeyed ginger preserves, and putting a piece in her mouth, she leaned her chin on the windowsill.
"Truly, such a foolish male you are," her face said.
In spite of himself, Lawrence had the urge to raise a hand in a wave, but he resisted, gripping the reins and facing forward.
He gave the leathers a flick and made for the village of Le Houaix.
The merchant at the company had told Lawrence that he would know Le Houaix when he saw it, and shortly after he left the town, he knew the reason why.
The name Le Houaix was hastily scribbled on a temporary-looking wooden sign. Moreover, the town seemed to expect deliveries to continue through the night, as the path was well lit here and there by torches.
| The sky had turned red and would soon be a deep, dark blue.
Everyone Lawrence passed seemed uniformly exhausted, and many of the drivers of empty-bedded wagons were asleep in the drivers' seats.
When he looked back, he could see others like him, all headed for the same destination. Some carried goods on their backs, others in bags on packhorses, and some drove loaded wagons. Their clothes and tack were all different, and all spoke very clearly of having been suddenly and temporarily assembled for the job.
The town seemed to be surrounded by fertile land, which would mean it would need a mill to grind the grain from its bountiful harvests. But waterwheels were not only useful for grain. Lush land would attract more people, and more people would bring more needs. Smithing, dyeing, spinning—all of these could make uses of a waterwheel's power.
However, constructing and maintaining such a thing was a very expensive proposition, and rivers where they were built tended to be owned by the nobility. Even when a waterwheel was needed, its construction would often become tangled among conflicting interests and schemes.
Given how busy the trading company was, it seemed those interests had all finally been resolved and construction had been decided upon.
The hurry came from the thaw that would come with spring's arrival, when the melting snow would make construction very difficult. The company's plan was surely to build the dikes and install the wheel while the river was low. The rising water that would come with the spring thaw would power the wheel quite nicely.
Lawrence did not know whether it was going to succeed, but he could see the desperation in the operation. Of course, that was what allowed him to waltz right in the way he had, so he thanked his luck for that.
Moreover, this was the first time in quite a while he had conducted the wagon without Holo at his side, and while it would have been overstatement to say it was a relief, it was certainly a pleasant change of pace.
Formerly, he would have found driving alone an unavoidably lonely activity, and it made him reflect on how fickle humans were.
As the sun set, he shivered at a far-off wolf howl—this, too, for the first time in quite a while.
He stifled a yawn and kept his attention on the road, the better to keep the wagon's wheels out of holes and puddles. Soon he came to Le Houaix, where the glow of red torchlight brightened the moonlit night.
To the north of the village was a forest nestled against a steep upward slope, and through it passed the driver. Normally nightfall would drown the forest in darkness, but here the riverbank had been cleared and fires built along it so that it looked almost like a river of fire.
Here and there some workers caught what sleep they could, but Lawrence could see other craftsmen toiling away by the river. It was a larger construction project than Lawrence had anticipated; it seemed they were planning to build multiple waterwheels at once.
It seemed likely to yield unusually large profits.
Lawrence delivered the goods and received wooden tags in exchange, then cheerfully climbed back onto the wagon. His horse did not speak human language, but looked back at Lawrence with his sad purple eyes, as though to say, "Please, no more."
Lawrence nonetheless took up the reins and wheeled the wagon around, and with a smart crack, he urged his horse forward. This was a simple business—how much money he could make would depend on how many times he could repeat the trip.
The busy, hurried work made him reflect on his rarely remembered past. It might mean only trouble for his horse, but Lawrence came to smile thinly and drew a blanket over his shoulders.
How many trips would it take to reach the honeyed peach preserves? He mused over the question as the wagon rolled on under the moonlight.
The way to Le Houaix was chaotic.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The sky had turned red and would soon be a deep, dark blue.
Everyone Lawrence passed seemed uniformly exhausted, and many of the drivers of empty-bedded wagons were asleep in the drivers' seats.
When he looked back, he could see others like him, all headed for the same destination. Some carried goods on their backs, others in bags on packhorses, and some drove loaded wagons. Their clothes and tack were all different, and all spoke very clearly of having been suddenly and temporarily assembled for the job.
The town seemed to be surrounded by fertile land, which would mean it would need a mill to grind the grain from its bountiful harvests. But waterwheels were not only useful for grain. Lush land would attract more people, and more people would bring more needs. Smithing, dyeing, spinning—all of these could make uses of a waterwheel's power.
However, constructing and maintaining such a thing was a very expensive proposition, and rivers where they were built tended to be owned by the nobility. Even when a waterwheel was needed, its construction would often become tangled among conflicting interests and schemes.
Given how busy the trading company was, it seemed those interests had all finally been resolved and construction had been decided upon.
The hurry came from the thaw that would come with spring's arrival, when the melting snow would make construction very difficult. The company's plan was surely to build the dikes and install the wheel while the river was low. The rising water that would come with the spring thaw would power the wheel quite nicely.
Lawrence did not know whether it was going to succeed, but he could see the desperation in the operation. Of course, that was what allowed him to waltz right in the way he had, so he thanked his luck for that.
Moreover, this was the first time in quite a while he had conducted the wagon without Holo at his side, and while it would have been overstatement to say it was a relief, it was certainly a pleasant change of pace.
Formerly, he would have found driving alone an unavoidably lonely activity, and it made him reflect on how fickle humans were.
As the sun set, he shivered at a far-off wolf howl—this, too, for the first time in quite a while.
He stifled a yawn and kept his attention on the road, the better to keep the wagon's wheels out of holes and puddles. Soon he came to Le Houaix, where the glow of red torchlight brightened the moonlit night.
To the north of the village was a forest nestled against a steep upward slope, and through it passed the driver. Normally nightfall would drown the forest in darkness, but here the riverbank had been cleared and fires built along it so that it looked almost like a river of fire.
Here and there some workers caught what sleep they could, but Lawrence could see other craftsmen toiling away by the river. It was a larger construction project than Lawrence had anticipated; it seemed they were planning to build multiple waterwheels at once.
It seemed likely to yield unusually large profits.
Lawrence delivered the goods and received wooden tags in exchange, then cheerfully climbed back onto the wagon. His horse did not speak human language, but looked back at Lawrence with his sad purple eyes, as though to say, "Please, no more."
Lawrence nonetheless took up the reins and wheeled the wagon around, and with a smart crack, he urged his horse forward. This was a simple business—how much money he could make would depend on how many times he could repeat the trip.
The busy, hurried work made him reflect on his rarely remembered past. It might mean only trouble for his horse, but Lawrence came to smile thinly and drew a blanket over his shoulders.
How many trips would it take to reach the honeyed peach preserves? He mused over the question as the wagon rolled on under the moonlight.
The way to Le Houaix was chaotic.
| This was why most of the people that crowded the road all day were not merchants, but rather ordinary people trying to make a quick wage—farmers and shepherds, street performers and pilgrims, craftsmen with their aprons still on. It was as though the entire town had turned out for the job. Most of them carried loads on their backs as they set about doing the unfamiliar physical labor.
Moreover, while the road that led to the village of Le Houaix was not a particularly steep or severe one, it was beset by other problems.
The voices of wolves and wild dogs could be heard from the forest alongside the road, either in reaction to the presence of the people on the road or the food that they ate as they went, and at the crossing of a stream over which a shoddy bridge had been built, there was constant fighting over whose turn it was to cross.
The loads brought to the village had to be dealt with, not to mention the arrival of itinerant craftsmen who'd caught wind of the construction. Added to that was the traffic of women and children running to and fro to draw water from the river, to quench the thirst of the men coming to the village. The path from the village center to the river had become a veritable swamp thanks to all the water being spilled.
The village was sprinkled with soldiers, too, with swords at their waists and iron breastplates on their chests. No doubt the watermill's noble masters had come to make sure the work was proceeding well.
Earlier in the day, people were full of vigor and thoughts of the wages they might earn, so there were fewer problems. But as the sun went lower in the sky, strength waned and knees buckled, and the situation grew tense.
Even when he returned to the Ohm Company, the loaders' labors had slowed to a crawl from all the noise being made. On top of all that, some of the most dispirited porters were beginning to complain that wild dogs were now venturing onto the road.
Lawrence had made seven trips with his wagon and was beginning to feel quite fatigued. Even if the road was not so steep, the number of people was itself exhausting.
A quick check of his coin purse revealed that the day's earnings amounted to seven trenni. That was not a bad wage at all—in fact, it was exceptionally good—but at this rate, it would take three or four days before he had enough to buy the honeyed peach preserves. As more people arrived, causing the work to back up, it might take even more time than that. He found himself inescapably irritated—he could earn more if he could just get his wagon loaded more quickly.
But there was a limit to the amount of work a person could do.
Lawrence took a deep breath, and there on his wagon, he did some thinking. Haste made waste. He would take a break and wait for nightfall. The crowds would thin, and he would be able to make more profitable use of his time. Such was the possibility Lawrence decided to bet on.
He pulled out of the line bound for the loading dock, then stabled his horse and wagon alike. The building was completely empty—all the other horses had been hired out. He then made for the room the trading company had spared him.
Whatever Holo had said to the housemaid, she had neither been chased out nor made to share a room with anyone else. Holo was there in the room alone, sitting in a chair by the window, combing out the fur of her tail, illuminated by the red light of the setting sun.
She did not spare the exhausted Lawrence a glance as he removed his dagger and coin purse and placed them on the table. "Well, isn't she the elegant one," Lawrence grumbled to himself but admitted that he was the one who'd told her to stay here. He managed to avoid blundering into the particular folly of voicing his irritation but wondered whether it was even worth it.
Such things went through Lawrence's mind as he collapsed sideways onto the bed. Then—
"There are two left, he said."
Lawrence glanced at Holo, not immediately understanding. She did not return his look.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | This was why most of the people that crowded the road all day were not merchants, but rather ordinary people trying to make a quick wage—farmers and shepherds, street performers and pilgrims, craftsmen with their aprons still on. It was as though the entire town had turned out for the job. Most of them carried loads on their backs as they set about doing the unfamiliar physical labor.
Moreover, while the road that led to the village of Le Houaix was not a particularly steep or severe one, it was beset by other problems.
The voices of wolves and wild dogs could be heard from the forest alongside the road, either in reaction to the presence of the people on the road or the food that they ate as they went, and at the crossing of a stream over which a shoddy bridge had been built, there was constant fighting over whose turn it was to cross.
The loads brought to the village had to be dealt with, not to mention the arrival of itinerant craftsmen who'd caught wind of the construction. Added to that was the traffic of women and children running to and fro to draw water from the river, to quench the thirst of the men coming to the village. The path from the village center to the river had become a veritable swamp thanks to all the water being spilled.
The village was sprinkled with soldiers, too, with swords at their waists and iron breastplates on their chests. No doubt the watermill's noble masters had come to make sure the work was proceeding well.
Earlier in the day, people were full of vigor and thoughts of the wages they might earn, so there were fewer problems. But as the sun went lower in the sky, strength waned and knees buckled, and the situation grew tense.
Even when he returned to the Ohm Company, the loaders' labors had slowed to a crawl from all the noise being made. On top of all that, some of the most dispirited porters were beginning to complain that wild dogs were now venturing onto the road.
Lawrence had made seven trips with his wagon and was beginning to feel quite fatigued. Even if the road was not so steep, the number of people was itself exhausting.
A quick check of his coin purse revealed that the day's earnings amounted to seven trenni. That was not a bad wage at all—in fact, it was exceptionally good—but at this rate, it would take three or four days before he had enough to buy the honeyed peach preserves. As more people arrived, causing the work to back up, it might take even more time than that. He found himself inescapably irritated—he could earn more if he could just get his wagon loaded more quickly.
But there was a limit to the amount of work a person could do.
Lawrence took a deep breath, and there on his wagon, he did some thinking. Haste made waste. He would take a break and wait for nightfall. The crowds would thin, and he would be able to make more profitable use of his time. Such was the possibility Lawrence decided to bet on.
He pulled out of the line bound for the loading dock, then stabled his horse and wagon alike. The building was completely empty—all the other horses had been hired out. He then made for the room the trading company had spared him.
Whatever Holo had said to the housemaid, she had neither been chased out nor made to share a room with anyone else. Holo was there in the room alone, sitting in a chair by the window, combing out the fur of her tail, illuminated by the red light of the setting sun.
She did not spare the exhausted Lawrence a glance as he removed his dagger and coin purse and placed them on the table. "Well, isn't she the elegant one," Lawrence grumbled to himself but admitted that he was the one who'd told her to stay here. He managed to avoid blundering into the particular folly of voicing his irritation but wondered whether it was even worth it.
Such things went through Lawrence's mind as he collapsed sideways onto the bed. Then—
"There are two left, he said."
Lawrence glanced at Holo, not immediately understanding. She did not return his look.
| It took Lawrence a moment to realize that she was talking about the honeyed peach preserves.
While he had been tired, he had not expected her to thank him for his hard day's work, but he'd at least hoped for some enjoyably idle chatter. But no, after a day and night of pulling on the reins, he was being immediately pressed on the topic at hand.
Lawrence was unsurprisingly irritated, but as he replied, he tried to keep that from affecting his tone. "You went back there just to check on them?"
His annoyance made it through via the word just, but he was too tired to worry about such things. As he sat on the bed, he untied his bootlaces in order to remove his shoes.
"Will it be all right, I wonder?" Holo pushed him, and his hands froze for a moment. Soon thereafter they started moving again, and he finished removing his boots.
"At one lumione, they're not asking a price that most people can easily pay, and people who can easily pay that much aren't exactly common."
"Is that so. They're safe, then, no?"
It was an honest enough answer that it could have been taken at face value, but her deliberate tone grated on his already-tired nerves. He was considering explaining very carefully just how much money a single lumione amounted to when he stopped and thought better of it.
Holo had no particular reason to be deliberately irritating him, so it was probably exhaustion that was making him feel this way.
Lawrence calmed himself and loosened his clothing here and there in preparation for a nap.
Holo had looked over at him at some point, and he noticed her gaze just as he was readying himself to lie down and fully relax.
"After all, you must have earned quite a lot." Lawrence was honestly surprised at her open hostility. "So tomorrow, then? Or are you back because you've earned enough already? You've made seven loads so far. That's got to amount to a goodly sum."
Biting, nibbling ants were an irritation, but the plunging stinger of the wasp was something to fear. Lawrence reacted to the teeth-baring, growling Holo mostly out of reflex, as he wondered where the nibbling Holo of a moment ago had gone. "Er, no, that only comes to seven silver pieces, so..."
"Seven? Oh ho. After all that haste, how long is it going to take you to earn a full lumione, then?"
He had seen her tail fluffed up in the reddish light when he had returned to the room, but now he realized it had been puffed out for a different reason.
But as he cast about, Lawrence's mind was a blank sheet. He had no idea what Holo was angry about.
Was it because the honeyed peach preserves were about to sell out? Or because she simply wanted to eat them as soon as possible?
His confusion had nothing to do with his exhaustion or anything so trivial. He purely and simply did not understand Holo's anger and was at an utter loss for words.
Holo's eyes blazed as red as a hare's in the setting sun. Her rage-filled gaze bore down on him, making Lawrence feel like his very life hung in the balance of his answer. The moment after that last absurd notion occurred to him, Lawrence realized something strange: What had Holo said just now? She had pointed out that he had made seven trips, but how did she come to have such detailed knowledge?
Not even the company merchants themselves would know exactly how many times they had loaded his wagon bed. It was as though she had been watching him from the window throughout the night.
As Lawrence thought of this, an "ah" escaped his lips. Holo's ears pricked up, and in her lap, her tail puffed out.
But that angry gaze was no longer directed at him, and he heard no bitter words. Instead, Holo's eyes narrowed, and she averted her eyes, as though wishing the red light of the setting sun would simply wash everything away.
"...Were you...," Lawrence began, but Holo literally snarled at him, and he cut himself off. "Uh, never mind," he mumbled.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | It took Lawrence a moment to realize that she was talking about the honeyed peach preserves.
While he had been tired, he had not expected her to thank him for his hard day's work, but he'd at least hoped for some enjoyably idle chatter. But no, after a day and night of pulling on the reins, he was being immediately pressed on the topic at hand.
Lawrence was unsurprisingly irritated, but as he replied, he tried to keep that from affecting his tone. "You went back there just to check on them?"
His annoyance made it through via the word just, but he was too tired to worry about such things. As he sat on the bed, he untied his bootlaces in order to remove his shoes.
"Will it be all right, I wonder?" Holo pushed him, and his hands froze for a moment. Soon thereafter they started moving again, and he finished removing his boots.
"At one lumione, they're not asking a price that most people can easily pay, and people who can easily pay that much aren't exactly common."
"Is that so. They're safe, then, no?"
It was an honest enough answer that it could have been taken at face value, but her deliberate tone grated on his already-tired nerves. He was considering explaining very carefully just how much money a single lumione amounted to when he stopped and thought better of it.
Holo had no particular reason to be deliberately irritating him, so it was probably exhaustion that was making him feel this way.
Lawrence calmed himself and loosened his clothing here and there in preparation for a nap.
Holo had looked over at him at some point, and he noticed her gaze just as he was readying himself to lie down and fully relax.
"After all, you must have earned quite a lot." Lawrence was honestly surprised at her open hostility. "So tomorrow, then? Or are you back because you've earned enough already? You've made seven loads so far. That's got to amount to a goodly sum."
Biting, nibbling ants were an irritation, but the plunging stinger of the wasp was something to fear. Lawrence reacted to the teeth-baring, growling Holo mostly out of reflex, as he wondered where the nibbling Holo of a moment ago had gone. "Er, no, that only comes to seven silver pieces, so..."
"Seven? Oh ho. After all that haste, how long is it going to take you to earn a full lumione, then?"
He had seen her tail fluffed up in the reddish light when he had returned to the room, but now he realized it had been puffed out for a different reason.
But as he cast about, Lawrence's mind was a blank sheet. He had no idea what Holo was angry about.
Was it because the honeyed peach preserves were about to sell out? Or because she simply wanted to eat them as soon as possible?
His confusion had nothing to do with his exhaustion or anything so trivial. He purely and simply did not understand Holo's anger and was at an utter loss for words.
Holo's eyes blazed as red as a hare's in the setting sun. Her rage-filled gaze bore down on him, making Lawrence feel like his very life hung in the balance of his answer. The moment after that last absurd notion occurred to him, Lawrence realized something strange: What had Holo said just now? She had pointed out that he had made seven trips, but how did she come to have such detailed knowledge?
Not even the company merchants themselves would know exactly how many times they had loaded his wagon bed. It was as though she had been watching him from the window throughout the night.
As Lawrence thought of this, an "ah" escaped his lips. Holo's ears pricked up, and in her lap, her tail puffed out.
But that angry gaze was no longer directed at him, and he heard no bitter words. Instead, Holo's eyes narrowed, and she averted her eyes, as though wishing the red light of the setting sun would simply wash everything away.
"...Were you...," Lawrence began, but Holo literally snarled at him, and he cut himself off. "Uh, never mind," he mumbled.
| Holo had probably been worried about him, but more than that, she had been lonely, left shut up in the room like this.
She had once said that loneliness was a fatal illness and had in the past put her very life at risk for Lawrence. He had not forgotten her, nor this. He could never forget.
That was why he had worked himself to the point of exhaustion for her, but simply feeling this way would not tell her anything. Just as Holo looking down at him from the window had not.
Even if it was a simple, tedious job, and even if it would only worsen her own exhaustion, Holo wanted Lawrence to bring her along. Anything was better than being left alone, she bravely seemed to think.
Lawrence cleared his throat to buy himself some time.
Since this was Holo, if he was to just up and invite her along, it would be inviting either her exasperation or her anger, and if she felt she was being pitied, it might become an issue of wounded pride.
He had to find some sort of pretext. Lawrence put his mind to work harder than he ever did while plying his trade and finally came up with something that he thought might work.
Lawrence coughed again, then spoke. "There are places on the road to the village where wild dogs have started to appear. It'll be dangerous come nightfall. So if you wouldn't mind..." He paused and checked Holo's reaction.
She was still looking down at her hands, but he detected little of the loneliness from before.
"...I would very much appreciate your help."
Lawrence emphasized the very much and could not help but notice Holo's ears twitch at the words.
But she did not immediately answer, probably thanks to her pride as a wisewolf. No doubt she considered it beneath her dignity to wag her tail and happily reply to the words for which she had been hoping.
Holo sighed a long-suffering sigh, gathering her tail up in her arms and giving it a long stroke. Then, when she finally did look up at him, her upturned gaze gave Lawrence the briefest vision of a mightily put-upon princess.
"Must I?" she said.
It seemed she wanted Lawrence to truly insist upon her presence. Either that, or she was simply amusing herself by watching him fold.
This was Lawrence's own fault for leaving her alone. The fault was his to bear.
"I need this favor of you," he said still more desperately, and Holo had again turned away, her ears twitching again.
Holo lightly raised her hand to her mouth and coughed, probably to disguise the laugh that threatened to burst out. "Very well, I suppose," she said with a sigh, then glanced back at her companion.
Craftsmen were acknowledged as such because they finished the job down to the last knot. Lawrence pushed his exasperation and amusement down and responded with a wide smile. "Thank you!"
At this finally, Holo let slip a guffaw.
"Aye," she said ticklishly, nodding her head. It was proof she was truly pleased.
In any case, he had managed the tightrope walk across Holo's foul temper. He heaved a sigh and removed his coat and belt. Ordinarily, he would have folded his coat over the back of the chair, but he lacked the energy to even do that much. What he wanted to do most of all was to become horizontal and go to sleep.
And in just a moment that pleasure would be his.
Lawrence's mind was halfway to the land of sleep when Holo stood and spoke. "Just what are you doing?"
He was unsure whether the sudden darkness in his vision was because he had closed his eyes or not. "Uhn?"
"Come, now that I'm coming along there's no need for rest. We haven't any time for dawdling."
Lawrence rubbed his eyes and willed them open, then looked up at Holo. She was busily putting on her hooded coat.
Surely this was a joke.
He was not angry so much as aghast while he watched Holo prepare. Her innocent smile struck him as cruel, her happily swishing tail as terrifying. She finished dressing, then approached him with that same smile.
She has to be joking. She has to be, Lawrence prayed to himself, but Holo continued to approach.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Holo had probably been worried about him, but more than that, she had been lonely, left shut up in the room like this.
She had once said that loneliness was a fatal illness and had in the past put her very life at risk for Lawrence. He had not forgotten her, nor this. He could never forget.
That was why he had worked himself to the point of exhaustion for her, but simply feeling this way would not tell her anything. Just as Holo looking down at him from the window had not.
Even if it was a simple, tedious job, and even if it would only worsen her own exhaustion, Holo wanted Lawrence to bring her along. Anything was better than being left alone, she bravely seemed to think.
Lawrence cleared his throat to buy himself some time.
Since this was Holo, if he was to just up and invite her along, it would be inviting either her exasperation or her anger, and if she felt she was being pitied, it might become an issue of wounded pride.
He had to find some sort of pretext. Lawrence put his mind to work harder than he ever did while plying his trade and finally came up with something that he thought might work.
Lawrence coughed again, then spoke. "There are places on the road to the village where wild dogs have started to appear. It'll be dangerous come nightfall. So if you wouldn't mind..." He paused and checked Holo's reaction.
She was still looking down at her hands, but he detected little of the loneliness from before.
"...I would very much appreciate your help."
Lawrence emphasized the very much and could not help but notice Holo's ears twitch at the words.
But she did not immediately answer, probably thanks to her pride as a wisewolf. No doubt she considered it beneath her dignity to wag her tail and happily reply to the words for which she had been hoping.
Holo sighed a long-suffering sigh, gathering her tail up in her arms and giving it a long stroke. Then, when she finally did look up at him, her upturned gaze gave Lawrence the briefest vision of a mightily put-upon princess.
"Must I?" she said.
It seemed she wanted Lawrence to truly insist upon her presence. Either that, or she was simply amusing herself by watching him fold.
This was Lawrence's own fault for leaving her alone. The fault was his to bear.
"I need this favor of you," he said still more desperately, and Holo had again turned away, her ears twitching again.
Holo lightly raised her hand to her mouth and coughed, probably to disguise the laugh that threatened to burst out. "Very well, I suppose," she said with a sigh, then glanced back at her companion.
Craftsmen were acknowledged as such because they finished the job down to the last knot. Lawrence pushed his exasperation and amusement down and responded with a wide smile. "Thank you!"
At this finally, Holo let slip a guffaw.
"Aye," she said ticklishly, nodding her head. It was proof she was truly pleased.
In any case, he had managed the tightrope walk across Holo's foul temper. He heaved a sigh and removed his coat and belt. Ordinarily, he would have folded his coat over the back of the chair, but he lacked the energy to even do that much. What he wanted to do most of all was to become horizontal and go to sleep.
And in just a moment that pleasure would be his.
Lawrence's mind was halfway to the land of sleep when Holo stood and spoke. "Just what are you doing?"
He was unsure whether the sudden darkness in his vision was because he had closed his eyes or not. "Uhn?"
"Come, now that I'm coming along there's no need for rest. We haven't any time for dawdling."
Lawrence rubbed his eyes and willed them open, then looked up at Holo. She was busily putting on her hooded coat.
Surely this was a joke.
He was not angry so much as aghast while he watched Holo prepare. Her innocent smile struck him as cruel, her happily swishing tail as terrifying. She finished dressing, then approached him with that same smile.
She has to be joking. She has to be, Lawrence prayed to himself, but Holo continued to approach.
| But even Lawrence had his limits. Almost unconsciously, he brushed her off. "Please, have some mercy, I'm not a cart horse—"
The moment he said it, he knew he had blundered, and he looked up at Holo to see her reaction.
But having been brushed off, Holo was simply looking back down at him with a mischievous smile on her face.
"Aye. That's true."
Lawrence wondered if she was angry, but then Holo sat herself down next to him on the bed. "Heh. Did you suppose I was angry?" Her delighted expression made it clear her goal all along had been to rile him.
In other words, he had been made sport of.
"You imagine that resting now will let you earn more efficiently at night, when traffic is lighter?" It was easy enough to discern as much, watching the comings and goings out the window for as long as Holo had.
Lawrence nodded, his eyes pleading with her to let him sleep.
"And that is why you are a fool, then." She grabbed hold of his beard and tugged his head to and fro. He was so sleepy and exhausted that it actually felt nice.
"You carried loads all night, napped in the driver's seat, left without even having breakfast with me, worked until just now, and made—what, seven pieces?"
"...That's right."
"I remember well enough that there are thirty-five trenni to a lumione, which leaves how much time until you've made enough to buy the honeyed peach preserves?"
It was a sum even a child could do. Lawrence answered, "Four days."
"Mm. Too much time. And moreover"—she ignored his attempt to interrupt—"the loading dock is a madhouse. Do you suppose you're the only one who's had the notion to give up, rest, and return in the evening?"
Holo made a proud expression, and beneath her hood, her ears twitched. No doubt from here her ears could hear all the conversations around the loading dock.
"Is everybody else thinking the same thing...?"
"Aye. It'll be just as bad come night. The dockhands themselves need rest, too. And if you're already so profoundly exhausted, consider five days of this? No doubt you'll need more rest, and it will be more like seven or eight."
Lawrence had the feeling her estimate was more or less accurate. He nodded vaguely, and she lightly poked his head.
In his state, he could not even summon the energy to oppose this attack. As he lay faceup on the bed, he moved only his eyes over to regard the girl.
"What should we do?"
"First, pray the honeyed peach preserves don't sell."
Lawrence closed his eyes. "And next?" he asked, already half-asleep.
"Think of a different business."
"...A different...?" When so much money could be earned simply hauling cargo, it was foolish to contemplate anything else, Lawrence thought in the darkness. But in the instant before his consciousness faded entirely, Holo's voice reached his ears.
"I've heard the chatter here. If you were going to use me to scatter the wild dogs anyway, there's a much better way to make money. You see..."
As he slept, Lawrence calculated the potential profits.
At the stables, Lawrence rented a two-wheeled cart.
It had a smaller bed and a more cramped driver's seat, but it was lighter and thus could be pulled more quickly than his wagon.
Next, he collected rope, blankets, baskets, a bit of board, and a good amount of small coins.
Having done all this, Lawrence pulled the cart around to a certain building, whereupon the shopkeeper came running out as though he'd been waiting.
"Ah, I've been waiting! You got them?"
"Aye, and you?"
"Everything's ready. Honestly, I thought you were nothing more than other travelers when you came knocking on my door so early this morning—never thought you'd ask for such work." The man who laughed heartily was an innkeeper, though his apron was messy with oil and bread crumbs. "I hear you went to the bakers with your request last night. Reckon any craftsman that ends up rising earlier than a priest'll be none too happy about it!"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | But even Lawrence had his limits. Almost unconsciously, he brushed her off. "Please, have some mercy, I'm not a cart horse—"
The moment he said it, he knew he had blundered, and he looked up at Holo to see her reaction.
But having been brushed off, Holo was simply looking back down at him with a mischievous smile on her face.
"Aye. That's true."
Lawrence wondered if she was angry, but then Holo sat herself down next to him on the bed. "Heh. Did you suppose I was angry?" Her delighted expression made it clear her goal all along had been to rile him.
In other words, he had been made sport of.
"You imagine that resting now will let you earn more efficiently at night, when traffic is lighter?" It was easy enough to discern as much, watching the comings and goings out the window for as long as Holo had.
Lawrence nodded, his eyes pleading with her to let him sleep.
"And that is why you are a fool, then." She grabbed hold of his beard and tugged his head to and fro. He was so sleepy and exhausted that it actually felt nice.
"You carried loads all night, napped in the driver's seat, left without even having breakfast with me, worked until just now, and made—what, seven pieces?"
"...That's right."
"I remember well enough that there are thirty-five trenni to a lumione, which leaves how much time until you've made enough to buy the honeyed peach preserves?"
It was a sum even a child could do. Lawrence answered, "Four days."
"Mm. Too much time. And moreover"—she ignored his attempt to interrupt—"the loading dock is a madhouse. Do you suppose you're the only one who's had the notion to give up, rest, and return in the evening?"
Holo made a proud expression, and beneath her hood, her ears twitched. No doubt from here her ears could hear all the conversations around the loading dock.
"Is everybody else thinking the same thing...?"
"Aye. It'll be just as bad come night. The dockhands themselves need rest, too. And if you're already so profoundly exhausted, consider five days of this? No doubt you'll need more rest, and it will be more like seven or eight."
Lawrence had the feeling her estimate was more or less accurate. He nodded vaguely, and she lightly poked his head.
In his state, he could not even summon the energy to oppose this attack. As he lay faceup on the bed, he moved only his eyes over to regard the girl.
"What should we do?"
"First, pray the honeyed peach preserves don't sell."
Lawrence closed his eyes. "And next?" he asked, already half-asleep.
"Think of a different business."
"...A different...?" When so much money could be earned simply hauling cargo, it was foolish to contemplate anything else, Lawrence thought in the darkness. But in the instant before his consciousness faded entirely, Holo's voice reached his ears.
"I've heard the chatter here. If you were going to use me to scatter the wild dogs anyway, there's a much better way to make money. You see..."
As he slept, Lawrence calculated the potential profits.
At the stables, Lawrence rented a two-wheeled cart.
It had a smaller bed and a more cramped driver's seat, but it was lighter and thus could be pulled more quickly than his wagon.
Next, he collected rope, blankets, baskets, a bit of board, and a good amount of small coins.
Having done all this, Lawrence pulled the cart around to a certain building, whereupon the shopkeeper came running out as though he'd been waiting.
"Ah, I've been waiting! You got them?"
"Aye, and you?"
"Everything's ready. Honestly, I thought you were nothing more than other travelers when you came knocking on my door so early this morning—never thought you'd ask for such work." The man who laughed heartily was an innkeeper, though his apron was messy with oil and bread crumbs. "I hear you went to the bakers with your request last night. Reckon any craftsman that ends up rising earlier than a priest'll be none too happy about it!"
| "That'll be enough for fifty people all together. When I sent the lads to the butchers', he wanted to know just how many people were staying at my place!"
"I truly appreciate it on such short notice. My thanks," said Lawrence.
"It's nothing. The guild dictates how much money we can make with its rules—if this helps me make a little more, it's a cheap favor indeed."
The two apprentices set the cauldron in the small cart bed and tied it down with the rope. In the cauldron was roast mutton with plenty of garlic, and Lawrence could still hear the fat bubbling.
The next item brought over was the large basket, which contained a heap of notched loaves of bread. Next came two full casks of middling wine.
With all this, the two-wheeled cart was fully loaded. With the help of the innkeeper, Lawrence secured the load with rope. The cart horse looked back at them, which probably was not a coincidence.
I have to haul all this? is no doubt what it would have said, if it could speak.
"Still, to take the money, even with this much preparation...well," said the innkeeper deliberately, once he had finished counting up the remainder of the payment for the food. He gave his apprentices a few of the more worn coins—perhaps he always did as much when he had an unexpected little windfall like this. They returned to the inn delighted.
"Will you really be all right?" he asked. "The road to Le Houaix cuts right alongside the forest."
"When you say the forest, you're talking about the wolves and wild dogs, I suppose?"
"That's right. The Ohm Company built that road in a hurry to take materials to Le Houaix. All the dogs there came from the city, so they've no fear of humans. To be honest, it seems dangerous to carry something that smells so delicious right through that. I'll bet there were others who thought to do the same thing but gave up, owing to the danger and all."
Lawrence thought back to the conversation that Holo had overheard from her room. If something could be done about the wolves, then there was money to be made selling food and water in Le Houaix, where there was more demand than supply.
"Ha-ha. It'll be all right," said Lawrence with a smile, looking at the two-wheeled cart.
There was someone covering its cargo with wooden boards. Someone slight, delicate, with a casually tied skirt from which seemed to peek a furred sash or lining of some kind. Once she was finished securing the boards, that girl sat atop them with a satisfied smile on her face.
When the innkeeper noticed what Lawrence was looking at, Lawrence smiled. "They put a goddess of good fortune on the prow of a ship to guard against sea devils and disasters. She's mine."
"Oh ho...but still, against those dogs?" said the innkeeper doubtfully, but Lawrence only gave him a confident nod and said no more.
Running an inn, the innkeeper had surely seen people from many different regions employ many different good-luck charms. Lawrence would probably be fine admitting to it, so long as he avoided making any offerings to frogs or snakes.
And since he had already given the innkeeper himself a nice offering in the form of some lucrative side business, the man had no reason to complain.
"May God's blessing go with you," said the innkeeper as he took a couple of steps back from the cart.
"My thanks, truly. Oh, and—"
"Yes?"
Lawrence jumped up onto the driver's seat of the cart before he spoke. Two-wheeled carts were not especially rare, but that changed when there was a fetching lass in the cart bed. Passersby stared curiously, and children running in the streets waved innocently to Holo as though she was part of some festival.
"I may come again in the evening for the same order."
The innkeeper's lips went round, and he then smiled a toothy smile. "My inn's full up, so I've plenty of help. The guild rules don't say anything about putting your guests to work!" he said with a laugh.
"We'll be off, then."
"And good travels to you!"
With a clop-clop, the cart began to move.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "That'll be enough for fifty people all together. When I sent the lads to the butchers', he wanted to know just how many people were staying at my place!"
"I truly appreciate it on such short notice. My thanks," said Lawrence.
"It's nothing. The guild dictates how much money we can make with its rules—if this helps me make a little more, it's a cheap favor indeed."
The two apprentices set the cauldron in the small cart bed and tied it down with the rope. In the cauldron was roast mutton with plenty of garlic, and Lawrence could still hear the fat bubbling.
The next item brought over was the large basket, which contained a heap of notched loaves of bread. Next came two full casks of middling wine.
With all this, the two-wheeled cart was fully loaded. With the help of the innkeeper, Lawrence secured the load with rope. The cart horse looked back at them, which probably was not a coincidence.
I have to haul all this? is no doubt what it would have said, if it could speak.
"Still, to take the money, even with this much preparation...well," said the innkeeper deliberately, once he had finished counting up the remainder of the payment for the food. He gave his apprentices a few of the more worn coins—perhaps he always did as much when he had an unexpected little windfall like this. They returned to the inn delighted.
"Will you really be all right?" he asked. "The road to Le Houaix cuts right alongside the forest."
"When you say the forest, you're talking about the wolves and wild dogs, I suppose?"
"That's right. The Ohm Company built that road in a hurry to take materials to Le Houaix. All the dogs there came from the city, so they've no fear of humans. To be honest, it seems dangerous to carry something that smells so delicious right through that. I'll bet there were others who thought to do the same thing but gave up, owing to the danger and all."
Lawrence thought back to the conversation that Holo had overheard from her room. If something could be done about the wolves, then there was money to be made selling food and water in Le Houaix, where there was more demand than supply.
"Ha-ha. It'll be all right," said Lawrence with a smile, looking at the two-wheeled cart.
There was someone covering its cargo with wooden boards. Someone slight, delicate, with a casually tied skirt from which seemed to peek a furred sash or lining of some kind. Once she was finished securing the boards, that girl sat atop them with a satisfied smile on her face.
When the innkeeper noticed what Lawrence was looking at, Lawrence smiled. "They put a goddess of good fortune on the prow of a ship to guard against sea devils and disasters. She's mine."
"Oh ho...but still, against those dogs?" said the innkeeper doubtfully, but Lawrence only gave him a confident nod and said no more.
Running an inn, the innkeeper had surely seen people from many different regions employ many different good-luck charms. Lawrence would probably be fine admitting to it, so long as he avoided making any offerings to frogs or snakes.
And since he had already given the innkeeper himself a nice offering in the form of some lucrative side business, the man had no reason to complain.
"May God's blessing go with you," said the innkeeper as he took a couple of steps back from the cart.
"My thanks, truly. Oh, and—"
"Yes?"
Lawrence jumped up onto the driver's seat of the cart before he spoke. Two-wheeled carts were not especially rare, but that changed when there was a fetching lass in the cart bed. Passersby stared curiously, and children running in the streets waved innocently to Holo as though she was part of some festival.
"I may come again in the evening for the same order."
The innkeeper's lips went round, and he then smiled a toothy smile. "My inn's full up, so I've plenty of help. The guild rules don't say anything about putting your guests to work!" he said with a laugh.
"We'll be off, then."
"And good travels to you!"
With a clop-clop, the cart began to move.
| "Now then, are you prepared for this?"
Lawrence's question was answered with a nod from Holo, who leaned forward from her sitting position to drape her arms around his neck from behind. "I'm the faster one, you know. A horse's speed is nothing to mine."
"Yes, but that's when you're on your own feet."
Normally, it was Lawrence who clung to Holo. Similarly, when in business, it was nerve-racking to conduct a trade with someone else's money.
Holo snuggled her arms around Lawrence and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Well, I'd best hold on tight, then, hadn't I? Just as you always do—desperately, trying to keep from crying."
"Come on, I don't cry..."
"Heh-heh-heh." The breath from Holo's snigger tickled Lawrence's ear.
He sighed a long-suffering sigh. "I won't stop even if you do cry."
"As though I'd—!" Holo's words after that were cut off by the sound of the reins smacking against the cart horse's backside as Lawrence gave them a snap.
The horse began to run and the two wheels to turn.
The question of whether Holo had or had not cried would surely be a source of many quarrels to come.
The road could be summarized with the word bracing.
A two-wheeled cart was very limited in the amount of cargo it could carry, and it was far less stable than a wagon with four wheels. But in exchange, its speed was a beautiful thing.
Lawrence did not often use a cart, but it was perfect for the needs of the moment, when he wanted to transport the food while it was still hot. As he sat in the driver's seat gripping the reins, it felt as though he were controlling the landscape itself as it rushed by.
Holo had clung to Lawrence nervously at first, but very quickly she became used to the accommodations. By the time they neared the forest, Holo was content to hold on to Lawrence's shoulders with her hands, standing in the cart bed and letting the air rush over her as she laughed.
Given the rumors of wild dogs, the other travelers on the road mostly kept their eyes warily downcast, and a few of them had swords drawn and ready. To see a girl laughing so merrily in a two-wheeler, they must've felt ridiculous for being so terrified of anything like a dog.
The faces of the people they passed lit up as they went by, and they would raise their hands and wave. It happened more than a few times that Holo would reach up to return their waves and in the process nearly lose her balance and fall from the wagon. Each time, she would end up having to half strangle Lawrence's neck to keep her grip, but her snickering made it difficult for Lawrence to feel much alarm.
Given her lively good cheer, it was no wonder the wolf had been so enraged to spend her day locked up in a room.
As they went, a howl sounded from within the forest, and everyone on the road froze and looked to the trees.
Then Holo howled herself, as though she had been waiting for that moment, and everyone turned and looked at her in shock.
They seemed to realize the extent of their own cowardice, and as though to admit the rightness of the girl's courage in the cart, they all howled with her.
Lawrence and Holo arrived in the village of Le Houaix after a trip that could never have been so enjoyable taken alone.
The throng of people assembled there all gazed in curiosity at this cart, which contained not waterwheel parts but casks, a blanket-wrapped cauldron, and atop all those, a girl. Lawrence stopped their vehicle amid the gazes, then helped Holo to the ground. She seemed so pleased he would've been unsurprised to hear the swish-swish of her tail wagging. He left her in charge of setting up while he went off to find and negotiate with the manager of the village. He finished by pressing several silver coins into the man's hand, and in exchange, he received permission to sell food in the village since the workers were so busy with work they did not even have time to fetch water from the river.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Now then, are you prepared for this?"
Lawrence's question was answered with a nod from Holo, who leaned forward from her sitting position to drape her arms around his neck from behind. "I'm the faster one, you know. A horse's speed is nothing to mine."
"Yes, but that's when you're on your own feet."
Normally, it was Lawrence who clung to Holo. Similarly, when in business, it was nerve-racking to conduct a trade with someone else's money.
Holo snuggled her arms around Lawrence and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Well, I'd best hold on tight, then, hadn't I? Just as you always do—desperately, trying to keep from crying."
"Come on, I don't cry..."
"Heh-heh-heh." The breath from Holo's snigger tickled Lawrence's ear.
He sighed a long-suffering sigh. "I won't stop even if you do cry."
"As though I'd—!" Holo's words after that were cut off by the sound of the reins smacking against the cart horse's backside as Lawrence gave them a snap.
The horse began to run and the two wheels to turn.
The question of whether Holo had or had not cried would surely be a source of many quarrels to come.
The road could be summarized with the word bracing.
A two-wheeled cart was very limited in the amount of cargo it could carry, and it was far less stable than a wagon with four wheels. But in exchange, its speed was a beautiful thing.
Lawrence did not often use a cart, but it was perfect for the needs of the moment, when he wanted to transport the food while it was still hot. As he sat in the driver's seat gripping the reins, it felt as though he were controlling the landscape itself as it rushed by.
Holo had clung to Lawrence nervously at first, but very quickly she became used to the accommodations. By the time they neared the forest, Holo was content to hold on to Lawrence's shoulders with her hands, standing in the cart bed and letting the air rush over her as she laughed.
Given the rumors of wild dogs, the other travelers on the road mostly kept their eyes warily downcast, and a few of them had swords drawn and ready. To see a girl laughing so merrily in a two-wheeler, they must've felt ridiculous for being so terrified of anything like a dog.
The faces of the people they passed lit up as they went by, and they would raise their hands and wave. It happened more than a few times that Holo would reach up to return their waves and in the process nearly lose her balance and fall from the wagon. Each time, she would end up having to half strangle Lawrence's neck to keep her grip, but her snickering made it difficult for Lawrence to feel much alarm.
Given her lively good cheer, it was no wonder the wolf had been so enraged to spend her day locked up in a room.
As they went, a howl sounded from within the forest, and everyone on the road froze and looked to the trees.
Then Holo howled herself, as though she had been waiting for that moment, and everyone turned and looked at her in shock.
They seemed to realize the extent of their own cowardice, and as though to admit the rightness of the girl's courage in the cart, they all howled with her.
Lawrence and Holo arrived in the village of Le Houaix after a trip that could never have been so enjoyable taken alone.
The throng of people assembled there all gazed in curiosity at this cart, which contained not waterwheel parts but casks, a blanket-wrapped cauldron, and atop all those, a girl. Lawrence stopped their vehicle amid the gazes, then helped Holo to the ground. She seemed so pleased he would've been unsurprised to hear the swish-swish of her tail wagging. He left her in charge of setting up while he went off to find and negotiate with the manager of the village. He finished by pressing several silver coins into the man's hand, and in exchange, he received permission to sell food in the village since the workers were so busy with work they did not even have time to fetch water from the river.
| "Hey, you there! Don't crowd! Line up properly!"
They were slicing the already thinly sliced meat in two, then selling it between pieces of bread. That was all, but they were still too busy for any amount of politeness. The cause of this was the wine they had brought, thinking they would be able to sell it at a fine price. Portioning it out took extra time and effort—more than twice as much. Lawrence had done this sort of thing once or twice before but had totally forgotten about that little fact.
They'd managed to sell about half of what they had brought when a man who looked to be a carpenter approached them from behind. "My comrades have been toiling away on empty stomachs," he said.
Holo was originally a wolf-god of wheat and was thus always sensitive to manners of food. She looked at Lawrence, wordlessly insisting that they assist.
There was yet meat in the cauldron. Traffic continued to stream into the village, so if he stayed where he was, he would sell out before long.
Lawrence was a merchant and was happy as long as his wares sold. There seemed to him little point in moving just to accomplish the same task—but then he changed his mind.
Given the people going back and forth between the village and the trading company, news of the business he and Holo were doing was bound to spread. They would do well to expand their market by selling a bit of food to the craftsmen.
Lawrence sank into silence as he thought it over but was brought back to his senses by Holo stepping slightly on his foot.
"Why, aren't you making a cunning face?" she said.
"I am a merchant, after all. Right," said Lawrence. He finished placing a slice of meat between pieces of bread and handing the sandwich to a customer, then put the cauldron's lid back on top of it and turned to the craftsman. "I've enough left for twenty men, say. Will that do?"
The craftsmen working alongside the river were like ravenous wolves.
The Ohm Company, which had taken on the construction project thanks to their boundless lust for money, had hired these craftsmen but failed to provide food or lodging for them, so the men had gotten by on nothing but an evening meal provided by the villagers out of pure kindness.
Moreover, since the work was paid piecemeal and done on a deadline, the workers were reluctant to take the time to go all the way back to the village for a meal. Even once they became aware of Lawrence and Holo's arrival at the mill, they regarded them with only a brief, sad glare before turning their attention back to their work. The ones working on the wheelhouse's axles or interior did not even show their faces.
Lawrence carried the wine cask, and Holo pulled one of the small handcarts the local women used to move heavy loads, which in turn was loaded with the cauldron and bread basket. They shared a glance.
Evidently they would be peddling the food on foot.
"What, that all? It won't be near enough!" So said everyone they sold bread to, but the complaint always came with a smile.
Apart from those who made their living under a workshop's roof, any carpenter was happy to brag about the terrible conditions under which he'd worked. So while each and every one of them had to be famished, none demanded a greater share of meat or bread.
Far from it—they asked Lawrence to give food to as many men as he could manage. It was impossible to build a great water mill alone, and if even one man fell it would be trouble for all, they said. Holo had spent so much time watching the workers in her wheat fields that she seemed to empathize with this.
But she did not just empathize—she seemed to take great pleasure in bantering with the workers, and Lawrence could hardly fail to notice her ladling out extragenerous servings of wine.
Of course, he said nothing.
"Two pieces of bread here, please!" came a shouted call from one of the millhouses that already housed a millstone.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Hey, you there! Don't crowd! Line up properly!"
They were slicing the already thinly sliced meat in two, then selling it between pieces of bread. That was all, but they were still too busy for any amount of politeness. The cause of this was the wine they had brought, thinking they would be able to sell it at a fine price. Portioning it out took extra time and effort—more than twice as much. Lawrence had done this sort of thing once or twice before but had totally forgotten about that little fact.
They'd managed to sell about half of what they had brought when a man who looked to be a carpenter approached them from behind. "My comrades have been toiling away on empty stomachs," he said.
Holo was originally a wolf-god of wheat and was thus always sensitive to manners of food. She looked at Lawrence, wordlessly insisting that they assist.
There was yet meat in the cauldron. Traffic continued to stream into the village, so if he stayed where he was, he would sell out before long.
Lawrence was a merchant and was happy as long as his wares sold. There seemed to him little point in moving just to accomplish the same task—but then he changed his mind.
Given the people going back and forth between the village and the trading company, news of the business he and Holo were doing was bound to spread. They would do well to expand their market by selling a bit of food to the craftsmen.
Lawrence sank into silence as he thought it over but was brought back to his senses by Holo stepping slightly on his foot.
"Why, aren't you making a cunning face?" she said.
"I am a merchant, after all. Right," said Lawrence. He finished placing a slice of meat between pieces of bread and handing the sandwich to a customer, then put the cauldron's lid back on top of it and turned to the craftsman. "I've enough left for twenty men, say. Will that do?"
The craftsmen working alongside the river were like ravenous wolves.
The Ohm Company, which had taken on the construction project thanks to their boundless lust for money, had hired these craftsmen but failed to provide food or lodging for them, so the men had gotten by on nothing but an evening meal provided by the villagers out of pure kindness.
Moreover, since the work was paid piecemeal and done on a deadline, the workers were reluctant to take the time to go all the way back to the village for a meal. Even once they became aware of Lawrence and Holo's arrival at the mill, they regarded them with only a brief, sad glare before turning their attention back to their work. The ones working on the wheelhouse's axles or interior did not even show their faces.
Lawrence carried the wine cask, and Holo pulled one of the small handcarts the local women used to move heavy loads, which in turn was loaded with the cauldron and bread basket. They shared a glance.
Evidently they would be peddling the food on foot.
"What, that all? It won't be near enough!" So said everyone they sold bread to, but the complaint always came with a smile.
Apart from those who made their living under a workshop's roof, any carpenter was happy to brag about the terrible conditions under which he'd worked. So while each and every one of them had to be famished, none demanded a greater share of meat or bread.
Far from it—they asked Lawrence to give food to as many men as he could manage. It was impossible to build a great water mill alone, and if even one man fell it would be trouble for all, they said. Holo had spent so much time watching the workers in her wheat fields that she seemed to empathize with this.
But she did not just empathize—she seemed to take great pleasure in bantering with the workers, and Lawrence could hardly fail to notice her ladling out extragenerous servings of wine.
Of course, he said nothing.
"Two pieces of bread here, please!" came a shouted call from one of the millhouses that already housed a millstone.
| Holo sneezed several times and decided to wait outside the shack. Perhaps her excellent sense of smell made her that much more sensitive.
Lawrence sliced off two pieces of bread, then ascended the steeply rising stairs.
They creaked alarmingly as he went, and there was not much room between his head and the ceiling. The men there were covered in sawdust and were fighting with files and saws to get the axle gearing to properly mesh.
"I've brought the bread!"
A watermill could be surprisingly loud, and it was—all the more so in the small shack, with the creaking and groaning of the turning axle.
Yet at Lawrence's yell, the two men suddenly looked up at him and rushed at him with surprising alacrity.
Holo laughed at him when Lawrence later told her he was afraid he would be knocked back down the stairs.
When Lawrence sighed because he wished she would be a little more worried about him, Holo slowly and gently brushed the sawdust from his face and smiled.
The wheel turned, rising, then falling, then rising again.
Holo was like a waterwheel, like a mallet, and Lawrence was easily undone by her.
"Well, I think we've about made the rounds."
"I'd think so. Dividing the meat and bread in half we managed to get to most everybody."
Holo pulled the cart that was carrying the wine cask and cauldron, and on her chest was a wooden pendant, carved in the shape of a hare, that one of the carpenters had given her.
"I'd like to head straight back to the village, put in another order, and see if we can't double our business by noon tomorrow."
"Mm. Still, how much did we make in the end?"
"Well, now...wait just a moment..." Lawrence counted the various costs on his fingers, and the figure he arrived at was surprisingly low. "Around four trenni at best, after we change the money."
"Only four? But we sold so much!"
It was true that Lawrence's coin purse was heavy with coppers, but poor-quality coppers were never going to amount to much, no matter how many you had.
"I'd feel better pushing prices higher if we were selling to greedy merchants, but the craftsmen aren't making that much. So that's how it is."
Given that Holo was the one who had suggested selling food to the craftsmen, she could not very well argue with this and pulled her chin in with irritation.
Of course, doing business that people were so grateful to receive came with benefits other than money. Even when profit margins were slim and the dangers great, Lawrence could rarely resist the trade routes to lonely villages since he could never forget how it felt to bring the villagers what they needed.
Lawrence put his hand on Holo's head and patted it a bit roughly. "Still, we'll bring double the food tomorrow and turn double the profit. If we make arrangements ahead, we'll be able to sell at night, too, which will double our profit again. We'll have those honeyed peach preserves before you know it."
Holo nodded at Lawrence's words, and her stomach growled almost in time with her nod.
Her ears twitched ticklishly under his hand, and Lawrence pulled away. He could not very well pretend not to have heard the growl, so he just gave an honest chuckle.
Holo made ready to play-punch Lawrence's arm, but just before she did, Lawrence's stomach itself growled with fortuitous timing.
Their constant struggle to keep up with sales of meat and bread had kept their hunger at bay, but now it seemed to have returned with a vengeance. Lawrence met Holo's eyes. He smiled at her again, and Holo's angry expression immediately softened.
Lawrence glanced about their surroundings, then reached for the cart.
"What is it?" Holo asked.
"Oh, nothing," said Lawrence. He removed the cauldron's lid, pulled out the last slice of meat sticking to the inside, along with a nearly crumbled piece of bread. "I saved this. Thought we could eat it on the way back."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Holo sneezed several times and decided to wait outside the shack. Perhaps her excellent sense of smell made her that much more sensitive.
Lawrence sliced off two pieces of bread, then ascended the steeply rising stairs.
They creaked alarmingly as he went, and there was not much room between his head and the ceiling. The men there were covered in sawdust and were fighting with files and saws to get the axle gearing to properly mesh.
"I've brought the bread!"
A watermill could be surprisingly loud, and it was—all the more so in the small shack, with the creaking and groaning of the turning axle.
Yet at Lawrence's yell, the two men suddenly looked up at him and rushed at him with surprising alacrity.
Holo laughed at him when Lawrence later told her he was afraid he would be knocked back down the stairs.
When Lawrence sighed because he wished she would be a little more worried about him, Holo slowly and gently brushed the sawdust from his face and smiled.
The wheel turned, rising, then falling, then rising again.
Holo was like a waterwheel, like a mallet, and Lawrence was easily undone by her.
"Well, I think we've about made the rounds."
"I'd think so. Dividing the meat and bread in half we managed to get to most everybody."
Holo pulled the cart that was carrying the wine cask and cauldron, and on her chest was a wooden pendant, carved in the shape of a hare, that one of the carpenters had given her.
"I'd like to head straight back to the village, put in another order, and see if we can't double our business by noon tomorrow."
"Mm. Still, how much did we make in the end?"
"Well, now...wait just a moment..." Lawrence counted the various costs on his fingers, and the figure he arrived at was surprisingly low. "Around four trenni at best, after we change the money."
"Only four? But we sold so much!"
It was true that Lawrence's coin purse was heavy with coppers, but poor-quality coppers were never going to amount to much, no matter how many you had.
"I'd feel better pushing prices higher if we were selling to greedy merchants, but the craftsmen aren't making that much. So that's how it is."
Given that Holo was the one who had suggested selling food to the craftsmen, she could not very well argue with this and pulled her chin in with irritation.
Of course, doing business that people were so grateful to receive came with benefits other than money. Even when profit margins were slim and the dangers great, Lawrence could rarely resist the trade routes to lonely villages since he could never forget how it felt to bring the villagers what they needed.
Lawrence put his hand on Holo's head and patted it a bit roughly. "Still, we'll bring double the food tomorrow and turn double the profit. If we make arrangements ahead, we'll be able to sell at night, too, which will double our profit again. We'll have those honeyed peach preserves before you know it."
Holo nodded at Lawrence's words, and her stomach growled almost in time with her nod.
Her ears twitched ticklishly under his hand, and Lawrence pulled away. He could not very well pretend not to have heard the growl, so he just gave an honest chuckle.
Holo made ready to play-punch Lawrence's arm, but just before she did, Lawrence's stomach itself growled with fortuitous timing.
Their constant struggle to keep up with sales of meat and bread had kept their hunger at bay, but now it seemed to have returned with a vengeance. Lawrence met Holo's eyes. He smiled at her again, and Holo's angry expression immediately softened.
Lawrence glanced about their surroundings, then reached for the cart.
"What is it?" Holo asked.
"Oh, nothing," said Lawrence. He removed the cauldron's lid, pulled out the last slice of meat sticking to the inside, along with a nearly crumbled piece of bread. "I saved this. Thought we could eat it on the way back."
| Lawrence cut the meat with a greasy knife as Holo's tail wagged.
"Still, you."
"What?"
"You seem to have missed the crucial point again."
The cheap mutton was full of gristle, so cutting it took some time, but Lawrence finally looked back up at Holo. "The crucial point?"
"Mm. If you were planning all along to reveal this plan, you should've used nicer meat. This meat is merely adequate."
Apparently it had been too much to trust Holo to suffer through skipping lunch. Of course, it was very like her to have been watching for openings to secretly sneak bites of meat throughout the day.
Lawrence sighed. "I hadn't noticed," he said with a rueful smile.
He sliced the bread in two, put meat atop each, and then after a moment of indecision, he gave the larger piece to Holo.
Her tail was as honest as a puppy's, and somehow, so was her tongue. "I understand the carpenters' grumbling all too well now. This isn't nearly enough."
"You're certainly full of complaints. When I was just starting out, I'd eat buds and fruit seeds just to avoid starvation."
Holo bit noisily into the bread and meat, giving Lawrence nothing but an irritated glare, noisily chewing the bite she tore free.
Lawrence put his knife away, and after taking his own serving of bread and replacing the lids of the basket and cauldron, he returned to pulling the cart.
"And you're certainly full of elderly scolding," said Holo (of all things the things to say!) after she finished swallowing the bite.
If the centuries-old wisewolf was saying as much, then all was truly lost.
"It's only reasonable to want to eat more and tastier food. Just as trees wish to grow up and out."
Even rank sophistry like this sounded more or less reasonable when Holo said it, which was patently unfair.
Though she'd eaten the first half of her food in the first bite, the greedy Holo seemed not to want to finish so quickly and instead contented herself to nibble at what remained.
Lawrence watched this childish display and could not help asking, "So you were that hungry, eh?"
If all he had given her were those words, he probably would have gotten an angry glare for his trouble. But her look was more doubtful than angry, since as he spoke, he offered her a new piece of bread.
"God says to share what you have, after all."
Holo looked at him steadily for a moment, then finally popped the rest of her share into her mouth. The bread in Lawrence's hand disappeared moments later.
"Mmph...Sometimes even you...mm...manage to act like a proper male."
Watching Holo talk as she devoured the sandwich half, perhaps wanting the fresher loaf as quickly as possible, was quite enough to make Lawrence feel full.
He smiled as he remembered a certain old travelers' saying about food.
"Still, is this truly all right?" asked Holo, holding the remaining bread in both hands.
Something about her posture made Lawrence doubt she would let the bread go in any case, but she had asked, so he had no choice but to answer. Just as he spoke, he realized what he said was connected to what Holo had said two days earlier.
"Sure, it's fine."
"Mm. Well, in that case..."
"I've already eaten quite enough."
Holo's mouth dropped open, and she froze, only her eyes swiveling to glare at Lawrence.
"What's the matter?" he asked, which made Holo's gaze flick this way and that, disturbed, before settling back on him, harsh.
"Oh, you've already eaten, have you? And here I thought you were being considerate for once...," she grumbled.
"Isn't this the time to put what you said before into action?" Lawrence responded.
"...Huh? Me? What are you..."
It was always Holo who was putting riddles to Lawrence. At seeing her confusion, Lawrence had to admit that he understood the appeal. He had always thought it was out of malice or mean-spiritedness, but having gotten a chance to try it himself, he finally saw why she enjoyed it so much. Holo had closed her mouth and looked back and forth between the bread and Lawrence's face, confused.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Lawrence cut the meat with a greasy knife as Holo's tail wagged.
"Still, you."
"What?"
"You seem to have missed the crucial point again."
The cheap mutton was full of gristle, so cutting it took some time, but Lawrence finally looked back up at Holo. "The crucial point?"
"Mm. If you were planning all along to reveal this plan, you should've used nicer meat. This meat is merely adequate."
Apparently it had been too much to trust Holo to suffer through skipping lunch. Of course, it was very like her to have been watching for openings to secretly sneak bites of meat throughout the day.
Lawrence sighed. "I hadn't noticed," he said with a rueful smile.
He sliced the bread in two, put meat atop each, and then after a moment of indecision, he gave the larger piece to Holo.
Her tail was as honest as a puppy's, and somehow, so was her tongue. "I understand the carpenters' grumbling all too well now. This isn't nearly enough."
"You're certainly full of complaints. When I was just starting out, I'd eat buds and fruit seeds just to avoid starvation."
Holo bit noisily into the bread and meat, giving Lawrence nothing but an irritated glare, noisily chewing the bite she tore free.
Lawrence put his knife away, and after taking his own serving of bread and replacing the lids of the basket and cauldron, he returned to pulling the cart.
"And you're certainly full of elderly scolding," said Holo (of all things the things to say!) after she finished swallowing the bite.
If the centuries-old wisewolf was saying as much, then all was truly lost.
"It's only reasonable to want to eat more and tastier food. Just as trees wish to grow up and out."
Even rank sophistry like this sounded more or less reasonable when Holo said it, which was patently unfair.
Though she'd eaten the first half of her food in the first bite, the greedy Holo seemed not to want to finish so quickly and instead contented herself to nibble at what remained.
Lawrence watched this childish display and could not help asking, "So you were that hungry, eh?"
If all he had given her were those words, he probably would have gotten an angry glare for his trouble. But her look was more doubtful than angry, since as he spoke, he offered her a new piece of bread.
"God says to share what you have, after all."
Holo looked at him steadily for a moment, then finally popped the rest of her share into her mouth. The bread in Lawrence's hand disappeared moments later.
"Mmph...Sometimes even you...mm...manage to act like a proper male."
Watching Holo talk as she devoured the sandwich half, perhaps wanting the fresher loaf as quickly as possible, was quite enough to make Lawrence feel full.
He smiled as he remembered a certain old travelers' saying about food.
"Still, is this truly all right?" asked Holo, holding the remaining bread in both hands.
Something about her posture made Lawrence doubt she would let the bread go in any case, but she had asked, so he had no choice but to answer. Just as he spoke, he realized what he said was connected to what Holo had said two days earlier.
"Sure, it's fine."
"Mm. Well, in that case..."
"I've already eaten quite enough."
Holo's mouth dropped open, and she froze, only her eyes swiveling to glare at Lawrence.
"What's the matter?" he asked, which made Holo's gaze flick this way and that, disturbed, before settling back on him, harsh.
"Oh, you've already eaten, have you? And here I thought you were being considerate for once...," she grumbled.
"Isn't this the time to put what you said before into action?" Lawrence responded.
"...Huh? Me? What are you..."
It was always Holo who was putting riddles to Lawrence. At seeing her confusion, Lawrence had to admit that he understood the appeal. He had always thought it was out of malice or mean-spiritedness, but having gotten a chance to try it himself, he finally saw why she enjoyed it so much. Holo had closed her mouth and looked back and forth between the bread and Lawrence's face, confused.
| Lawrence decided the timing was right, and quoted the old travelers' maxim:
"For tasty food, double the money. To be full, double the amount. So what do you do to double the pleasure of a meal?" Lawrence remembered the riddle Holo had posed to him while she had gazed at the whole roast pig. He smiled and continued, "You add a companion to dine with. Just watching you enjoy the bread is satisfaction enough for me."
He smiled, and Holo looked down, probably more than a little abashed. Of course Lawrence had not intended to attack her, and he truly was content to watch her relish the bread so.
So instead of telling her to eat up and not worry, he teasingly patted her head.
Holo brushed his hand away and held hers out instead. "Do you suppose I could eat the whole loaf after hearing such a thing?" In her hand was a torn-off piece of the bread.
It was not precisely divided, but rather hastily torn in Holo's earnest effort to compromise—which was somehow very like her.
If she really wanted to eat the whole loaf of bread, he did not much mind, but still—!
Lawrence was about to say so, but Holo picked that moment to tease him. "'Twould be an annoyance indeed, to let you have all the fun of indulging."
Lawrence had been ready to reassure Holo that she need not worry about eating all the bread, but now she had done the same thing to him.
"Or do you only care about yourself?"
She was a wisewolf and not only in name.
If he turned her down, it would be proof of his selfishness.
Lawrence gratefully accepted the piece she had so begrudgingly torn off her loaf and bowed. "My thanks."
"Mm." Holo gave a superior nod, her chest puffed out. She bit into her own bread as though this entire exchange were beneath her dignity.
Lawrence, too, ate his bread, then brushed his hands free of the crumbs that lingered.
Holo then grabbed his hand with hers, as though she had been waiting for just that moment.
He was surprised, but not surprised enough to do anything as stupid as looking at her. He smiled wordlessly and squeezed her hand in response.
It was a pleasant winter's afternoon, and the only sound was the rattling of the cart.
End.
***
The towns and villages one encountered while traveling were places where a brief, precious rest could be had and necessary supplies gathered.
These were not limited to food and fuel. Components for repairing the wagon and mending clothes were necessary, as well as information on the condition and security of the road ahead.
The more people were traveling, the more things were required and the more work there was to do.
This was doubly true when one's companion was a selfish princess.
He had come to buy the firewood that was absolutely necessary for keeping warm while making camp on the road, but she merely furrowed her brow.
"...'Tis your coin. Spend it as you will."
Had she ended her sentence with a rising, interrogative tone, Lawrence could have at least enjoyed being charmingly deceived, but her flatly stated remark gave a rather different impression.
Lawrence found this surprising, but there was no reason to doubt that Holo, his traveling companion, would speak words that were utterly contrary to her true feelings.
"Does it bother you?"
"Not particularly," said Holo shortly, looking away. She had a kerchief over her head and a cape about her shoulders, a fox-fur muffler around her neck, and gloves of deerskin—every inch the town lass. Moreover, from beneath her kerchief and down her back flowed a fall of beautiful chestnut hair that would have been the envy of any noblewoman. She had beauty that caught the eye of nearly every passerby.
A poet might say that a girl in her teens was at her loveliest, but Lawrence knew the truth of the matter.
Holo was not a town lass, she was not a girl in her teens, and in point of fact was not even a human. Removing her kerchief would reveal wolf ears and beneath her robe was a magnificent tail.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Lawrence decided the timing was right, and quoted the old travelers' maxim:
"For tasty food, double the money. To be full, double the amount. So what do you do to double the pleasure of a meal?" Lawrence remembered the riddle Holo had posed to him while she had gazed at the whole roast pig. He smiled and continued, "You add a companion to dine with. Just watching you enjoy the bread is satisfaction enough for me."
He smiled, and Holo looked down, probably more than a little abashed. Of course Lawrence had not intended to attack her, and he truly was content to watch her relish the bread so.
So instead of telling her to eat up and not worry, he teasingly patted her head.
Holo brushed his hand away and held hers out instead. "Do you suppose I could eat the whole loaf after hearing such a thing?" In her hand was a torn-off piece of the bread.
It was not precisely divided, but rather hastily torn in Holo's earnest effort to compromise—which was somehow very like her.
If she really wanted to eat the whole loaf of bread, he did not much mind, but still—!
Lawrence was about to say so, but Holo picked that moment to tease him. "'Twould be an annoyance indeed, to let you have all the fun of indulging."
Lawrence had been ready to reassure Holo that she need not worry about eating all the bread, but now she had done the same thing to him.
"Or do you only care about yourself?"
She was a wisewolf and not only in name.
If he turned her down, it would be proof of his selfishness.
Lawrence gratefully accepted the piece she had so begrudgingly torn off her loaf and bowed. "My thanks."
"Mm." Holo gave a superior nod, her chest puffed out. She bit into her own bread as though this entire exchange were beneath her dignity.
Lawrence, too, ate his bread, then brushed his hands free of the crumbs that lingered.
Holo then grabbed his hand with hers, as though she had been waiting for just that moment.
He was surprised, but not surprised enough to do anything as stupid as looking at her. He smiled wordlessly and squeezed her hand in response.
It was a pleasant winter's afternoon, and the only sound was the rattling of the cart.
End.
***
The towns and villages one encountered while traveling were places where a brief, precious rest could be had and necessary supplies gathered.
These were not limited to food and fuel. Components for repairing the wagon and mending clothes were necessary, as well as information on the condition and security of the road ahead.
The more people were traveling, the more things were required and the more work there was to do.
This was doubly true when one's companion was a selfish princess.
He had come to buy the firewood that was absolutely necessary for keeping warm while making camp on the road, but she merely furrowed her brow.
"...'Tis your coin. Spend it as you will."
Had she ended her sentence with a rising, interrogative tone, Lawrence could have at least enjoyed being charmingly deceived, but her flatly stated remark gave a rather different impression.
Lawrence found this surprising, but there was no reason to doubt that Holo, his traveling companion, would speak words that were utterly contrary to her true feelings.
"Does it bother you?"
"Not particularly," said Holo shortly, looking away. She had a kerchief over her head and a cape about her shoulders, a fox-fur muffler around her neck, and gloves of deerskin—every inch the town lass. Moreover, from beneath her kerchief and down her back flowed a fall of beautiful chestnut hair that would have been the envy of any noblewoman. She had beauty that caught the eye of nearly every passerby.
A poet might say that a girl in her teens was at her loveliest, but Lawrence knew the truth of the matter.
Holo was not a town lass, she was not a girl in her teens, and in point of fact was not even a human. Removing her kerchief would reveal wolf ears and beneath her robe was a magnificent tail.
| She was Holo, the Wisewolf of Yoitsu.
Holo thrust out her chest and proclaimed both those names at every opportunity, which only made Lawrence sigh. Calling her a wisewolf always made him feel rather small inside.
"It's not such a great distance to the next town, and it shouldn't be too cold. You can manage a couple of days of cold food, can't you?"
"I told you, spend it as you will."
***
Lawrence and Holo were standing in a shop that sold the fuel travelers needed to provide light and warmth. It was not only travelers, either—all sorts bought the firewood stacked high in front of the shop, as well as the product next to it, which sold as though it would not be outdone.
It was true, though, that compared with firewood it gave a weaker flame, and there was the smell to consider. Given how much more sensitive Holo's nose was than a human's, it was no small burden for her to bear.
But—it was so cheap.
Merchants would blind themselves to almost anything if it was cheap enough—yes, and plug their noses, too.
What was it that Holo found distasteful? And what was so much cheaper than firewood? Peat.
"So, what'll it be, sir? I can't have you loitering around my shop all day." The shopkeeper laid a hand on his woodpile beneath the eaves and smiled a rueful smile.
He seemed half-sympathetic to Lawrence's problem with this finicky traveling companion and half-amused at Lawrence getting what he deserved.
Lawrence himself had felt that way at various points during his travels alone, so he could hardly blame the man. Traveling with a girl as fetching as Holo often earned him the envy of others. If the envy became too much of a problem, though, Lawrence would not be able to make his way as a merchant, so it would not do to appear self-satisfied—especially not when dealing with a nasty fellow like this, who would obviously take special pleasure in watching Lawrence squirm.
Faced with the prideful Holo, arms folded and back to him, looking for all the world like some spoiled noble lady, Lawrence had no choice but to set aside the matter of the fuel.
"My apologies. I'll come again."
"Come anytime," replied the shopkeeper in a flat tone. Only the words themselves were polite. It reminded him of Holo.
Holo, meanwhile, seemed to recover her good cheer as soon as they left the shop. "Food next, aye? Hurry, let us go!" she said, taking Lawrence's hand and tugging on it as she strode ahead.
From the outside, it would have looked like a traveling merchant had lucked into the attentions of a town lass, but Lawrence only sighed his usual sigh.
When it came to food, convincing Holo of anything was no simple matter—nothing so easy as the argument about fuel.
"'Tis written all over your face, you know," Holo said with a sly grin, and at the sight of the amber eyes that flashed at him from her upturned gaze, he could not help but stop in his tracks.
This wolf saw through everything.
"The next town will be bigger, I hear. I've no intention of insisting on luxury here."
"Which means you'll be insisting on luxury in the next town."
Holo grinned, flashing her teeth, to which Lawrence had no reply.
Either way it would be a battle, so he decided to simply follow Holo's lead this time. "Well, then, I'll gladly accept your thrift."
"Mm."
For bread, they bought rye instead of wheat, and cheap rye at that, bread that had been bulked up with legumes and chestnut flour. For vegetables, it was turnips and carrots, along with roasted beans. They had their wineskin filled with wine that was not very good, but at least had a good deal of clarity.
It was more reserved than their usual fare, but still cost more than the rock-hard oat bread and sour, pulpy wine Lawrence had eaten in the past.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | She was Holo, the Wisewolf of Yoitsu.
Holo thrust out her chest and proclaimed both those names at every opportunity, which only made Lawrence sigh. Calling her a wisewolf always made him feel rather small inside.
"It's not such a great distance to the next town, and it shouldn't be too cold. You can manage a couple of days of cold food, can't you?"
"I told you, spend it as you will."
***
Lawrence and Holo were standing in a shop that sold the fuel travelers needed to provide light and warmth. It was not only travelers, either—all sorts bought the firewood stacked high in front of the shop, as well as the product next to it, which sold as though it would not be outdone.
It was true, though, that compared with firewood it gave a weaker flame, and there was the smell to consider. Given how much more sensitive Holo's nose was than a human's, it was no small burden for her to bear.
But—it was so cheap.
Merchants would blind themselves to almost anything if it was cheap enough—yes, and plug their noses, too.
What was it that Holo found distasteful? And what was so much cheaper than firewood? Peat.
"So, what'll it be, sir? I can't have you loitering around my shop all day." The shopkeeper laid a hand on his woodpile beneath the eaves and smiled a rueful smile.
He seemed half-sympathetic to Lawrence's problem with this finicky traveling companion and half-amused at Lawrence getting what he deserved.
Lawrence himself had felt that way at various points during his travels alone, so he could hardly blame the man. Traveling with a girl as fetching as Holo often earned him the envy of others. If the envy became too much of a problem, though, Lawrence would not be able to make his way as a merchant, so it would not do to appear self-satisfied—especially not when dealing with a nasty fellow like this, who would obviously take special pleasure in watching Lawrence squirm.
Faced with the prideful Holo, arms folded and back to him, looking for all the world like some spoiled noble lady, Lawrence had no choice but to set aside the matter of the fuel.
"My apologies. I'll come again."
"Come anytime," replied the shopkeeper in a flat tone. Only the words themselves were polite. It reminded him of Holo.
Holo, meanwhile, seemed to recover her good cheer as soon as they left the shop. "Food next, aye? Hurry, let us go!" she said, taking Lawrence's hand and tugging on it as she strode ahead.
From the outside, it would have looked like a traveling merchant had lucked into the attentions of a town lass, but Lawrence only sighed his usual sigh.
When it came to food, convincing Holo of anything was no simple matter—nothing so easy as the argument about fuel.
"'Tis written all over your face, you know," Holo said with a sly grin, and at the sight of the amber eyes that flashed at him from her upturned gaze, he could not help but stop in his tracks.
This wolf saw through everything.
"The next town will be bigger, I hear. I've no intention of insisting on luxury here."
"Which means you'll be insisting on luxury in the next town."
Holo grinned, flashing her teeth, to which Lawrence had no reply.
Either way it would be a battle, so he decided to simply follow Holo's lead this time. "Well, then, I'll gladly accept your thrift."
"Mm."
For bread, they bought rye instead of wheat, and cheap rye at that, bread that had been bulked up with legumes and chestnut flour. For vegetables, it was turnips and carrots, along with roasted beans. They had their wineskin filled with wine that was not very good, but at least had a good deal of clarity.
It was more reserved than their usual fare, but still cost more than the rock-hard oat bread and sour, pulpy wine Lawrence had eaten in the past.
| "Ah, pardon me—might I have the change in those coppers there instead?"
"Those? Oh, the schmie coppers? Passing through the northern forest, are you?"
"Yes. There's a logging village on the way, if I remember right."
There were many varieties of the copper coins necessary to buy supplies on the road. As to why that mattered—well, one had only to imagine trying to use one town's coin in a rival town during a feud.
"It's probably too small to even be called a village, but this time of year there'll be more people there, just trying to finish their work before the snows come. Anyhow, this is the exchange rate."
Anyone making their living by trade needed to have a grasp of the many—even dozens—of coins that circulated through the money changers.
This particular exchange rate was slightly unfavorable, but Lawrence still would not be taking a loss.
He agreed to the exchange and accepted the schmie coppers, which were smaller but thicker, before putting the shop behind him.
"You merchants are a troublesome lot," said Holo once they'd left.
Lawrence put his hand on Holo's head. "Not so troublesome as you. Now then, we'll see to repairing the wagon and gathering some talk about the road ahead..." He ticked off the tasks on his fingers.
Holo looked up at him, childlike. If he ignored her, she would be angry.
Lawrence slumped and gave in. "Yes, and dinner, too."
"Mm. Nothing like a tavern for hearing about travel conditions. 'Tis a necessary thing."
It was hard to argue with a wisewolf.
Lawrence ascended the inn's stairs just as some other travelers were coming down. A man tipped his hat in greeting and gave Lawrence a smile of pained sympathy.
The reason for that smile was quite obvious.
The sun had not even set yet, but Holo's face was quite red as Lawrence carried her.
"How many times do you suppose I've carried a certain wisewolf away after she's eaten and drunk too much, hmm?"
"Ungh..."
"You're lucky I don't make a hobby of usury, else you wouldn't even have the clothes on your back."
With effort, he managed to drag Holo back to the room. He laid her on the bed and removed her kerchief and cloak, as had become the usual routine. He was so efficient at it, who would blame him for stripping her naked? Though the thought had occurred to Lawrence several times, he had never once done it.
After all, as she groaned and lay back, Holo's face was the very image of satiety.
"Honestly," Lawrence murmured with a smile. A caress of her cheek with his finger was all the satisfaction he needed.
"Now then." They'd arrived early in the town, and as a result, Holo was passed out from drunkenness earlier than usual. It was still light outside, and with the wooden windows left open, there was light enough to work without candles.
Lawrence set his knife, coin purse, and map on the desk and lazily went about his work.
First came an inspection of his knife, making sure the blade was still keen and the hilt tight. It was mostly used for eating, but during a journey it might well need to cut a man's skin or kill an animal.
When it came to things that might save his life, it was not an exaggeration to rank the knife above any prayer to God.
As for whether his map was useful or not, it was only marginally better than wearing blinders, but there was nothing to be lost in having even a vague sense of one's physical surroundings. Especially given that tomorrow they would be passing through a forest that would obscure their view of the horizon.
Lawrence knew from past experience that just having Holo the Wisewolf with him was not a guarantee of easy travel, but at least they would not have to worry about being attacked by wolves. Given that Holo's true wolf form could easily swallow him in a single gulp, with her at his side, there was no need to fear mere forest wolves.
That point did make him feel a bit better.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Ah, pardon me—might I have the change in those coppers there instead?"
"Those? Oh, the schmie coppers? Passing through the northern forest, are you?"
"Yes. There's a logging village on the way, if I remember right."
There were many varieties of the copper coins necessary to buy supplies on the road. As to why that mattered—well, one had only to imagine trying to use one town's coin in a rival town during a feud.
"It's probably too small to even be called a village, but this time of year there'll be more people there, just trying to finish their work before the snows come. Anyhow, this is the exchange rate."
Anyone making their living by trade needed to have a grasp of the many—even dozens—of coins that circulated through the money changers.
This particular exchange rate was slightly unfavorable, but Lawrence still would not be taking a loss.
He agreed to the exchange and accepted the schmie coppers, which were smaller but thicker, before putting the shop behind him.
"You merchants are a troublesome lot," said Holo once they'd left.
Lawrence put his hand on Holo's head. "Not so troublesome as you. Now then, we'll see to repairing the wagon and gathering some talk about the road ahead..." He ticked off the tasks on his fingers.
Holo looked up at him, childlike. If he ignored her, she would be angry.
Lawrence slumped and gave in. "Yes, and dinner, too."
"Mm. Nothing like a tavern for hearing about travel conditions. 'Tis a necessary thing."
It was hard to argue with a wisewolf.
Lawrence ascended the inn's stairs just as some other travelers were coming down. A man tipped his hat in greeting and gave Lawrence a smile of pained sympathy.
The reason for that smile was quite obvious.
The sun had not even set yet, but Holo's face was quite red as Lawrence carried her.
"How many times do you suppose I've carried a certain wisewolf away after she's eaten and drunk too much, hmm?"
"Ungh..."
"You're lucky I don't make a hobby of usury, else you wouldn't even have the clothes on your back."
With effort, he managed to drag Holo back to the room. He laid her on the bed and removed her kerchief and cloak, as had become the usual routine. He was so efficient at it, who would blame him for stripping her naked? Though the thought had occurred to Lawrence several times, he had never once done it.
After all, as she groaned and lay back, Holo's face was the very image of satiety.
"Honestly," Lawrence murmured with a smile. A caress of her cheek with his finger was all the satisfaction he needed.
"Now then." They'd arrived early in the town, and as a result, Holo was passed out from drunkenness earlier than usual. It was still light outside, and with the wooden windows left open, there was light enough to work without candles.
Lawrence set his knife, coin purse, and map on the desk and lazily went about his work.
First came an inspection of his knife, making sure the blade was still keen and the hilt tight. It was mostly used for eating, but during a journey it might well need to cut a man's skin or kill an animal.
When it came to things that might save his life, it was not an exaggeration to rank the knife above any prayer to God.
As for whether his map was useful or not, it was only marginally better than wearing blinders, but there was nothing to be lost in having even a vague sense of one's physical surroundings. Especially given that tomorrow they would be passing through a forest that would obscure their view of the horizon.
Lawrence knew from past experience that just having Holo the Wisewolf with him was not a guarantee of easy travel, but at least they would not have to worry about being attacked by wolves. Given that Holo's true wolf form could easily swallow him in a single gulp, with her at his side, there was no need to fear mere forest wolves.
That point did make him feel a bit better.
| It was said that animals hated the smell of metal, so he wore things made of lead on his body. Likewise it was said noise would keep them away, so he would ring a small bell all day long. He would make a generous tithe to the Church in exchange for a prayer on his behalf. He even ended up buying a charm bearing the name of a famous saint who was reputed to have given sermons to the wolves.
But no matter what he did, the wolves attacked when they pleased.
Despite all the hardship he had endured, Lawrence now found himself a bit saddened at not having to worry about such attacks anymore. Humans were strange creatures indeed.
Nevertheless, it would be best not to encounter them and not to rely overmuch on Holo. Holo, after all, seemed occasionally self-conscious about the fact that she was not human, so it would not do to just send her out to fend off any wolves that appeared.
Lawrence's attention now fell upon the contents of the open coin purse on the desk, which were the most representative of that which might be used to ward off wolves: The schmie copper pieces, which he had received as change in his various transactions around town.
Small and thick, they were perfect for carving copper off their edges, but unlike other similar coins, whose designs would have been mostly filed off, these were largely intact.
The reason why was in the design of the schmie copper.
Lawrence separated one out from the rest and held it up in his hand, gazing at it. On the red metal disc was carved the image of a single beast.
"So you're collecting those now, are you?"
Lawrence nearly dropped the coin at the sudden voice. There had been no footsteps nor other signals that she was so close.
Holo burped a wine-soaked burp and draped herself over Lawrence's back.
"I see you've finally recognized how wonderful I am, then. Mm. Aye, 'tis well."
"Yes, yes, fine. Hey, look out—!"
Lawrence reached out and grabbed the wobbling Holo's hand, and she smiled, pleased.
Even when she was drunk, Lawrence could not help but redden a bit, when smiled at thusly by a girl like Holo.
"So, what—you need water?"
"Mm...my throat burns..."
It was the usual routine. Lawrence stood from his chair, letting Holo sit instead while he brought her a pitcher of water.
He handed it to her, and she drank noisily, a trickle of water spilling from the corner of her mouth.
Holo claimed that wolves did not have cheeks and that she spilled because she had yet to become accustomed to her human mouth, but Lawrence doubted that. She was probably merely coarse.
"Whew..." She burped again.
"Feel better?"
"Mm...'Twas awfully strong wine, I think. My throat is yet dry," she said and began to drink again. She was spilling a truly terrible amount.
Lawrence felt like her footman as he offered her a handkerchief, but then he realized something—they had added a large amount of ginger to the wine, in order to cover up its poor quality.
"Even if you were to order finer wine, it would be a waste if you spilled it like that," Lawrence said, and Holo gave him a look that made him wonder if she had long since gotten over her drunkenness. But then the corner of her mouth curled up. She declined to engage further.
"Come, if you're feeling better, then move aside. It's dark, and I need to light a candle."
Holo glanced back and forth between Lawrence and the desk, then grudgingly stood. However, she seemed to have no intention of returning to the bed, instead sitting herself on the corner of the desk. "What are you doing? Are you insinuating something, huh?"
"What, do you want me to tell you it must be your conscience panging that makes you think so?"
"Hmph. Well, aren't I a good-for-nothing glutton." She took another drink from the water jug, then poked him in the temple with it.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | It was said that animals hated the smell of metal, so he wore things made of lead on his body. Likewise it was said noise would keep them away, so he would ring a small bell all day long. He would make a generous tithe to the Church in exchange for a prayer on his behalf. He even ended up buying a charm bearing the name of a famous saint who was reputed to have given sermons to the wolves.
But no matter what he did, the wolves attacked when they pleased.
Despite all the hardship he had endured, Lawrence now found himself a bit saddened at not having to worry about such attacks anymore. Humans were strange creatures indeed.
Nevertheless, it would be best not to encounter them and not to rely overmuch on Holo. Holo, after all, seemed occasionally self-conscious about the fact that she was not human, so it would not do to just send her out to fend off any wolves that appeared.
Lawrence's attention now fell upon the contents of the open coin purse on the desk, which were the most representative of that which might be used to ward off wolves: The schmie copper pieces, which he had received as change in his various transactions around town.
Small and thick, they were perfect for carving copper off their edges, but unlike other similar coins, whose designs would have been mostly filed off, these were largely intact.
The reason why was in the design of the schmie copper.
Lawrence separated one out from the rest and held it up in his hand, gazing at it. On the red metal disc was carved the image of a single beast.
"So you're collecting those now, are you?"
Lawrence nearly dropped the coin at the sudden voice. There had been no footsteps nor other signals that she was so close.
Holo burped a wine-soaked burp and draped herself over Lawrence's back.
"I see you've finally recognized how wonderful I am, then. Mm. Aye, 'tis well."
"Yes, yes, fine. Hey, look out—!"
Lawrence reached out and grabbed the wobbling Holo's hand, and she smiled, pleased.
Even when she was drunk, Lawrence could not help but redden a bit, when smiled at thusly by a girl like Holo.
"So, what—you need water?"
"Mm...my throat burns..."
It was the usual routine. Lawrence stood from his chair, letting Holo sit instead while he brought her a pitcher of water.
He handed it to her, and she drank noisily, a trickle of water spilling from the corner of her mouth.
Holo claimed that wolves did not have cheeks and that she spilled because she had yet to become accustomed to her human mouth, but Lawrence doubted that. She was probably merely coarse.
"Whew..." She burped again.
"Feel better?"
"Mm...'Twas awfully strong wine, I think. My throat is yet dry," she said and began to drink again. She was spilling a truly terrible amount.
Lawrence felt like her footman as he offered her a handkerchief, but then he realized something—they had added a large amount of ginger to the wine, in order to cover up its poor quality.
"Even if you were to order finer wine, it would be a waste if you spilled it like that," Lawrence said, and Holo gave him a look that made him wonder if she had long since gotten over her drunkenness. But then the corner of her mouth curled up. She declined to engage further.
"Come, if you're feeling better, then move aside. It's dark, and I need to light a candle."
Holo glanced back and forth between Lawrence and the desk, then grudgingly stood. However, she seemed to have no intention of returning to the bed, instead sitting herself on the corner of the desk. "What are you doing? Are you insinuating something, huh?"
"What, do you want me to tell you it must be your conscience panging that makes you think so?"
"Hmph. Well, aren't I a good-for-nothing glutton." She took another drink from the water jug, then poked him in the temple with it.
| Lawrence turned his attention back to the coins before he could blunder into any of her traps.
"We'll be passing through a village of woodcutters tomorrow. These are to sell there."
"...Sell?" Holo gave him a dubious look, not unfairly.
After all, it was a copper coin that was on the table—coin used to buy, not sell.
"That's right. Sell."
"But...this is currency, is it not?"
"You can sell currency. In the old days...maybe not as old as you, but still old, coins were sold by smiths, who were side by side with the money changers."
Holo's eyes were still bleary with wine, but her interest was piqued, and she picked up one of the copper coins to regard it.
"Coins issued by legendary kings or coins circulated near abbeys where saints renowned for their healing powers lived. Coins with holes in them such that they can be strung and worn about the neck are common, too. I've even heard of coins being used as hilts on swords."
The coin Holo held had a ship and a tower carved on it and was from a seaside kingdom. She looked at the obverse and the reverse sides both, holding each up to her chest experimentally.
"That's a bit small for that—coins made to wear tend to be larger. For you...one about this size would be good, I think."
Lawrence picked out a coin of about the right size and held it up to Holo's chest. It was an unremarkable piece of faded silver, but strangely, it looked more like an antique piece of silversmithing when worn by Holo.
Clothes make the man, the old saying went, but in this girl's case the opposite was true—she made anything look good.
"Heh. So, might we put a hole in this?" Holo burbled as she held the piece up.
Lawrence agonized for a moment but then hardened his heart and took the coin back. "If we do that, it'll be useless as currency."
"Hmph."
"You've got that precious wheat about your neck anyway, don't you? You can't wear a coin with that."
Holo looked forlornly at the coin Lawrence had taken back. "Huh?" she asked, her head tilted in confusion.
"There's a scripture that prohibits usury. It says the practice is like sowing coins into a field."
Despite her confused look, Holo was still a wisewolf. As soon as she began to think it over, she assumed an air of intellectualism. But the wine caught up to her, and she soon surrendered. "...What does that mean?"
"Coins will not send up shoots, nor blossom into flowers. Moreover, they're metal, so they'll poison the soil and make everything else planted there wither. In other words, it prohibits collecting interest and speaks to the evil of money."
"Mm." The wolf ears on her head flicked rapidly, and Holo nodded, seeming to accept this explanation. "I can't have the wheat withering, can I?"
Lawrence had also thought about how it would look on her already-thin physique but had not mentioned that. He only had one life, after all.
"So why will we be able to sell these coins in particular, then?" Holo pointed at the schmie coppers with their wolf designs.
"These? Well..." Lawrence found himself stumbling over his words. But he quickly recovered and gave a good merchant's answer. "The wolf device on them, you see."
"Oh? Why's that, I suppose. It does seem quite clever." Holo said, pleased, as she picked one of the coins up and turned it over in her palm.
Her good mood did not seem to be from the wine. She did seem very amused by the image of the wolf. And why not? Surely a lonely traveler, far from their home, would be heartened to chance upon a coin with a famous figure from their homeland carved upon its face.
But Lawrence remained purposefully vague. She was so happy, sitting there on the desk with her tail swishing back and forth. There was no need to say it.
"Come, you. What is it?"
The question put Lawrence in a difficult place.
"Courage, perhaps? Or...good fortune? No, this is wolves like me, so..." Holo considered the various possibilities herself.
He could not tell her. He could not tell her that it was a ward against wolves.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Lawrence turned his attention back to the coins before he could blunder into any of her traps.
"We'll be passing through a village of woodcutters tomorrow. These are to sell there."
"...Sell?" Holo gave him a dubious look, not unfairly.
After all, it was a copper coin that was on the table—coin used to buy, not sell.
"That's right. Sell."
"But...this is currency, is it not?"
"You can sell currency. In the old days...maybe not as old as you, but still old, coins were sold by smiths, who were side by side with the money changers."
Holo's eyes were still bleary with wine, but her interest was piqued, and she picked up one of the copper coins to regard it.
"Coins issued by legendary kings or coins circulated near abbeys where saints renowned for their healing powers lived. Coins with holes in them such that they can be strung and worn about the neck are common, too. I've even heard of coins being used as hilts on swords."
The coin Holo held had a ship and a tower carved on it and was from a seaside kingdom. She looked at the obverse and the reverse sides both, holding each up to her chest experimentally.
"That's a bit small for that—coins made to wear tend to be larger. For you...one about this size would be good, I think."
Lawrence picked out a coin of about the right size and held it up to Holo's chest. It was an unremarkable piece of faded silver, but strangely, it looked more like an antique piece of silversmithing when worn by Holo.
Clothes make the man, the old saying went, but in this girl's case the opposite was true—she made anything look good.
"Heh. So, might we put a hole in this?" Holo burbled as she held the piece up.
Lawrence agonized for a moment but then hardened his heart and took the coin back. "If we do that, it'll be useless as currency."
"Hmph."
"You've got that precious wheat about your neck anyway, don't you? You can't wear a coin with that."
Holo looked forlornly at the coin Lawrence had taken back. "Huh?" she asked, her head tilted in confusion.
"There's a scripture that prohibits usury. It says the practice is like sowing coins into a field."
Despite her confused look, Holo was still a wisewolf. As soon as she began to think it over, she assumed an air of intellectualism. But the wine caught up to her, and she soon surrendered. "...What does that mean?"
"Coins will not send up shoots, nor blossom into flowers. Moreover, they're metal, so they'll poison the soil and make everything else planted there wither. In other words, it prohibits collecting interest and speaks to the evil of money."
"Mm." The wolf ears on her head flicked rapidly, and Holo nodded, seeming to accept this explanation. "I can't have the wheat withering, can I?"
Lawrence had also thought about how it would look on her already-thin physique but had not mentioned that. He only had one life, after all.
"So why will we be able to sell these coins in particular, then?" Holo pointed at the schmie coppers with their wolf designs.
"These? Well..." Lawrence found himself stumbling over his words. But he quickly recovered and gave a good merchant's answer. "The wolf device on them, you see."
"Oh? Why's that, I suppose. It does seem quite clever." Holo said, pleased, as she picked one of the coins up and turned it over in her palm.
Her good mood did not seem to be from the wine. She did seem very amused by the image of the wolf. And why not? Surely a lonely traveler, far from their home, would be heartened to chance upon a coin with a famous figure from their homeland carved upon its face.
But Lawrence remained purposefully vague. She was so happy, sitting there on the desk with her tail swishing back and forth. There was no need to say it.
"Come, you. What is it?"
The question put Lawrence in a difficult place.
"Courage, perhaps? Or...good fortune? No, this is wolves like me, so..." Holo considered the various possibilities herself.
He could not tell her. He could not tell her that it was a ward against wolves.
| "Y-yes, that's right."
"Which means...," Holo mused, sinking into her own thoughts as a person sinks into water.
Lawrence could only look away and close his eyes. Her second name, Wisewolf, was not merely for show, and as he expected, she seemed to have realized the truth.
Holo's tail stopped in place, and she placed the coin she had been playing with back down on the desk.
"...Mm. Well, I figured 'twas something of the sort," she said, seemingly out of consideration for Lawrence.
As though admitting that wolves and humans could not help but be enemies.
"I mean, look, there are bandit ward coins, too, so—"
"Come, you," said Holo with a lonely sigh and momentary smile. "If you care so much, 'twill only make me feel lonelier," she said, hopping off the desk and returning to the bed. It was too late to say anything to her. Her body disappeared beneath the covers, followed by her tail.
Lawrence had been careless.
He should have known, he thought and sighed and began to place the sorted coins on the table into different bags.
The next moment, something came to him.
"Hey—that's right. Of course," he said, leaning back in the chair so that it balanced on its back legs. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Holo looking at him, apparently wondering what he was talking about.
"Come to think of it, with you along, don't you suppose we could make a killing on wolf wards?"
Occasionally stubbornness led to a certain wry smile. But a smile was a smile, and sometimes that was enough to clear the skies.
Holo's ears twitched. "So," she said, turning over in bed to face him. "What did you have in mind?"
While she could be even more childish and selfish than she looked, she offered Lawrence such a gracious chance to redeem himself that even he could not let it slip away.
No one had a better traveling companion than he did.
"Well, say...," Lawrence said, his gaze flitting away. "Maybe one could make some noise that would drive them away...?"
"Sometimes high-pitched noises are unpleasant for us...but that's just as likely to attract their attention as it is to drive wolves away."
She had a very straightforward point of view.
"What about prayers to God, then?"
"Aye, surely, if that god will give them food every day."
"What about the talk that they can't stand the smell of metal?"
"Metal..." Holo sat up as though they had finally hit upon something worth debating. She closed her eyes and tilted her head. "That might have some effect."
"So a leaden apron might work, then?" Lawrence had seen craftsmen wearing such things.
"Hmmm."
"I've often heard that knights or mercenaries wearing armor are difficult to attack."
"That's because of the long spears they carry, though, aye? Those are troublesome even for me. But swords—sometimes I don't even notice if they're carrying swords before I leap."
Every one of her answers was completely reasonable.
Lawrence gave the matter honest thought. "What about something that simply smells bad?"
"Aye. Herbs often have a bitter scent. That might be worst of all."
Several possible varieties of herbs flitted through Lawrence's mind. Some of them were quite cheap and might well do the trick.
Given the hour, the sun would soon be setting, but even if the spice shops were closing, their wares would be identifiable from the eaves simply by the scents they gave off.
"Shall we go out? You might walk off a bit of that wine."
"Mm. Right now?" Holo was surprised at first but soon changed her mind. "Aye, why not?"
"Right." Lawrence put his things in order and stood, and watching him, Holo smiled. A moment later, she climbed out of bed herself.
"But let's not hurry, eh?" said Holo as she took Lawrence's hand.
The western sky was red, but the east had already turned a dark blue. The passersby in the streets wore their scarves up around their mouths, bundled up tightly as they hurried to finish the day's business and head home.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Y-yes, that's right."
"Which means...," Holo mused, sinking into her own thoughts as a person sinks into water.
Lawrence could only look away and close his eyes. Her second name, Wisewolf, was not merely for show, and as he expected, she seemed to have realized the truth.
Holo's tail stopped in place, and she placed the coin she had been playing with back down on the desk.
"...Mm. Well, I figured 'twas something of the sort," she said, seemingly out of consideration for Lawrence.
As though admitting that wolves and humans could not help but be enemies.
"I mean, look, there are bandit ward coins, too, so—"
"Come, you," said Holo with a lonely sigh and momentary smile. "If you care so much, 'twill only make me feel lonelier," she said, hopping off the desk and returning to the bed. It was too late to say anything to her. Her body disappeared beneath the covers, followed by her tail.
Lawrence had been careless.
He should have known, he thought and sighed and began to place the sorted coins on the table into different bags.
The next moment, something came to him.
"Hey—that's right. Of course," he said, leaning back in the chair so that it balanced on its back legs. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Holo looking at him, apparently wondering what he was talking about.
"Come to think of it, with you along, don't you suppose we could make a killing on wolf wards?"
Occasionally stubbornness led to a certain wry smile. But a smile was a smile, and sometimes that was enough to clear the skies.
Holo's ears twitched. "So," she said, turning over in bed to face him. "What did you have in mind?"
While she could be even more childish and selfish than she looked, she offered Lawrence such a gracious chance to redeem himself that even he could not let it slip away.
No one had a better traveling companion than he did.
"Well, say...," Lawrence said, his gaze flitting away. "Maybe one could make some noise that would drive them away...?"
"Sometimes high-pitched noises are unpleasant for us...but that's just as likely to attract their attention as it is to drive wolves away."
She had a very straightforward point of view.
"What about prayers to God, then?"
"Aye, surely, if that god will give them food every day."
"What about the talk that they can't stand the smell of metal?"
"Metal..." Holo sat up as though they had finally hit upon something worth debating. She closed her eyes and tilted her head. "That might have some effect."
"So a leaden apron might work, then?" Lawrence had seen craftsmen wearing such things.
"Hmmm."
"I've often heard that knights or mercenaries wearing armor are difficult to attack."
"That's because of the long spears they carry, though, aye? Those are troublesome even for me. But swords—sometimes I don't even notice if they're carrying swords before I leap."
Every one of her answers was completely reasonable.
Lawrence gave the matter honest thought. "What about something that simply smells bad?"
"Aye. Herbs often have a bitter scent. That might be worst of all."
Several possible varieties of herbs flitted through Lawrence's mind. Some of them were quite cheap and might well do the trick.
Given the hour, the sun would soon be setting, but even if the spice shops were closing, their wares would be identifiable from the eaves simply by the scents they gave off.
"Shall we go out? You might walk off a bit of that wine."
"Mm. Right now?" Holo was surprised at first but soon changed her mind. "Aye, why not?"
"Right." Lawrence put his things in order and stood, and watching him, Holo smiled. A moment later, she climbed out of bed herself.
"But let's not hurry, eh?" said Holo as she took Lawrence's hand.
The western sky was red, but the east had already turned a dark blue. The passersby in the streets wore their scarves up around their mouths, bundled up tightly as they hurried to finish the day's business and head home.
| ***
When Lawrence looked back at her, Holo's grip on his hand tightened a little—the usual joke. And anyway, the barmaid hardly had time to show a mere traveling merchant anything more than the usual pleasant greeting. Customers were arriving one after the other, and she hurried inside, as though someone in the building had called to her.
"If anything, I imagine she was greeting us thanks to your drinking habits," said Lawrence.
"Oh ho. Then she ought to have waved an empty glass instead of her hand."
"Does that mean I should've waved my lightened coin purse?"
"Heh-heh. Yes, just so."
Such was their banter as they walked through the twilight town.
Lawrence often found summer post-sunset hour to be excessively melancholy, and as such did not like it, but winter's was just the opposite.
The air was cool and dry, and being covered in the dust of a hard day's work, delicious food and drink surely awaited them in a warm room somewhere, one that glowed with lamplight. It was no different from Holo's thinking, and doubtless that feeling was what led her to drag them to taverns and loosen the strings of his coin purse.
Such thoughts occupied Lawrence's mind as he walked beside Holo, and eventually they came to a certain building. A signboard with an earthen mortar affixed to it hung from the eaves, indicating that it was an apothecary's shop.
In most towns, herbs and spices fell into the purview of the apothecary.
Various dried herbs of suspicious provenance hung from the eaves in bunches, and inside the cramped little shop were rows of baskets containing even more herbs.
But farther inside, the shopkeeper was bent over, tidying up after the day's business, and when he noticed Lawrence and Holo, his breath came out in a white puff as he smiled apologetically. "Customers, at this hour? I was just about to close up shop."
"Could we browse just a bit?"
"So long as you aren't long," replied the shopkeeper, arranging the small bottles and casks on a shelf.
"Thank you very much," said Lawrence with a smile.
Next to him, Holo waited for the shopkeeper to stick his nose back into the shelves before she whispered into Lawrence's ear, "He was looking at me as he said that."
"He probably thinks I'm some fool merchant a town girl has tricked into buying a scented sachet or some such thing." Lawrence shrugged, and Holo stifled a laugh.
"Even if it smells good, it still leaves your belly empty."
"I figured you'd say that."
As they chatted, they smelled each of the herbs lined up in front of the shop. Black herbs, blue herbs, deep green herbs, red herbs, yellow herbs. There were even some made from dried flowers or dried fruits, and many that, upon asking the shopkeeper their names, Lawrence discovered he had never heard of before.
For Holo's part, she delivered her opinions in turn as she sampled the scents. "Good for putting on tough meat. Good for putting in bad wine. Good for putting on burnt bread." Such harshly scented herbs as these were not good for improving the taste of good food so much as they were for covering up the taste of bad food—or so Holo was saying with much disapproval.
In any case, Holo's nose and her ability to tell the scents apart was enough to make even the shopkeeper's eyes go wide in surprise, but it was no shock to someone who knew exactly what she was.
But what did surprise Lawrence was when the impressed shopkeeper, upon recognizing Holo's magnificent nose, brought out several small baskets for her to sample.
"I've a favor to ask, if you wouldn't mind."
Holo looked at Lawrence, then back to the shopkeeper.
"This one and this one. Also this and this. Here, too—lately there are rumors of fakes circulating. I've been doing an apothecary's work for thirty years, but sometimes even I find myself fooled by the fakes. I hear sometimes they train dogs to sniff out the scents nearer the fakes, but...would you consider lending me your nose?"
Evidently every business had its troubles.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | ***
When Lawrence looked back at her, Holo's grip on his hand tightened a little—the usual joke. And anyway, the barmaid hardly had time to show a mere traveling merchant anything more than the usual pleasant greeting. Customers were arriving one after the other, and she hurried inside, as though someone in the building had called to her.
"If anything, I imagine she was greeting us thanks to your drinking habits," said Lawrence.
"Oh ho. Then she ought to have waved an empty glass instead of her hand."
"Does that mean I should've waved my lightened coin purse?"
"Heh-heh. Yes, just so."
Such was their banter as they walked through the twilight town.
Lawrence often found summer post-sunset hour to be excessively melancholy, and as such did not like it, but winter's was just the opposite.
The air was cool and dry, and being covered in the dust of a hard day's work, delicious food and drink surely awaited them in a warm room somewhere, one that glowed with lamplight. It was no different from Holo's thinking, and doubtless that feeling was what led her to drag them to taverns and loosen the strings of his coin purse.
Such thoughts occupied Lawrence's mind as he walked beside Holo, and eventually they came to a certain building. A signboard with an earthen mortar affixed to it hung from the eaves, indicating that it was an apothecary's shop.
In most towns, herbs and spices fell into the purview of the apothecary.
Various dried herbs of suspicious provenance hung from the eaves in bunches, and inside the cramped little shop were rows of baskets containing even more herbs.
But farther inside, the shopkeeper was bent over, tidying up after the day's business, and when he noticed Lawrence and Holo, his breath came out in a white puff as he smiled apologetically. "Customers, at this hour? I was just about to close up shop."
"Could we browse just a bit?"
"So long as you aren't long," replied the shopkeeper, arranging the small bottles and casks on a shelf.
"Thank you very much," said Lawrence with a smile.
Next to him, Holo waited for the shopkeeper to stick his nose back into the shelves before she whispered into Lawrence's ear, "He was looking at me as he said that."
"He probably thinks I'm some fool merchant a town girl has tricked into buying a scented sachet or some such thing." Lawrence shrugged, and Holo stifled a laugh.
"Even if it smells good, it still leaves your belly empty."
"I figured you'd say that."
As they chatted, they smelled each of the herbs lined up in front of the shop. Black herbs, blue herbs, deep green herbs, red herbs, yellow herbs. There were even some made from dried flowers or dried fruits, and many that, upon asking the shopkeeper their names, Lawrence discovered he had never heard of before.
For Holo's part, she delivered her opinions in turn as she sampled the scents. "Good for putting on tough meat. Good for putting in bad wine. Good for putting on burnt bread." Such harshly scented herbs as these were not good for improving the taste of good food so much as they were for covering up the taste of bad food—or so Holo was saying with much disapproval.
In any case, Holo's nose and her ability to tell the scents apart was enough to make even the shopkeeper's eyes go wide in surprise, but it was no shock to someone who knew exactly what she was.
But what did surprise Lawrence was when the impressed shopkeeper, upon recognizing Holo's magnificent nose, brought out several small baskets for her to sample.
"I've a favor to ask, if you wouldn't mind."
Holo looked at Lawrence, then back to the shopkeeper.
"This one and this one. Also this and this. Here, too—lately there are rumors of fakes circulating. I've been doing an apothecary's work for thirty years, but sometimes even I find myself fooled by the fakes. I hear sometimes they train dogs to sniff out the scents nearer the fakes, but...would you consider lending me your nose?"
Evidently every business had its troubles.
| It was a circuitous explanation, but the shopkeeper was no amateur. He nodded immediately. "Do not worry," he said. "If she can tell the fakes from the genuine article, I'd be prepared to thank her appropriately."
He placed a weight on one side of a set of scales and then balanced it with an amount of copper coins.
The deal was done.
"Well then, Holo."
"Er...hmm...good wheat bread, then."
A bit of red dye would tint the whole barrel, the old saying went. Holo made her request, and Lawrence immediately nodded.
Evidently the spice the shopkeeper had at hand was rather valuable, as the amount he had proposed to Lawrence was a tidy sum. There would be money left over even after buying Holo the bread she craved. He did not mind, as long as the entirety of this unexpected profit was not used up.
"Ah," murmured Lawrence to himself.
Holo sniffed at a sprig of herb that the shopkeeper gave her and looked up at him. "What makes you say that?" she asked Lawrence.
"Oh, nothing. I just remembered something I need to do. I'll be right back—just stay here."
Holo looked none too pleased, but the shopkeeper seemed to be fine with any arrangement that included Holo staying there and sniff testing his wares.
Lawrence lightly patted Holo's shoulder and walked off without waiting for her to reply.
He walked quickly through the town streets, making for his destination. The streets were more crowde, now, with people hurrying home.
The coins in his coin purse jingled.
Once Lawrence finished his errand, he returned to the shop, where he found Holo and the shopkeeper drinking wine.
He was extolling the virtues of apothecaries as he drank, so evidently the smell-detection work had finished.
The shopkeeper was the first to notice Lawrence, and he emerged from the front of the shop with a great smile on his face, as though he was about to pick Lawrence up in a warm embrace. "Well, well! Your girl's nose is truly a wonder. Dunking the fake in wine soon revealed the lie! I very nearly took a terrible loss," he said.
"I'm pleased to hear it. I see you've added wine to her payment."
"It's nothing compared with the loss I would've suffered. And of course, my consideration will be a generous one," he said and hurried back inside his shop.
Holo was drinking wine with a very satisfied look on her face, and given that she had already been drunk earlier that same evening, the look in her eye was a bit suspicious.
"You've drunk too much."
"Hmm? I've finished a hard day's work! And unlike a certain someone who did nothing but tuck the profit away in their coin purse, I'm quite tired."
Perhaps angry at having been left behind, she shoved her finger at Lawrence's chest, and her eyes were surprisingly serious.
In lieu of an apology, Lawrence plucked an herb fragment away from the corner of Holo's mouth. He sniffed it; it was an herb often said to go well with wine.
"Given that, I suppose you weren't able to do what we originally came here to do?"
At Lawrence's words, Holo drank more wine in noisy gulps and replied in an aggrieved tone, "Searching for a scent that wolves don't like means essentially that I have to put my nose to things I myself hate. Why must I do such a thing, pray tell?"
It was unclear whether she was speaking purposefully or whether it was just the wine, but in any case Holo was clearly upset at Lawrence leaving her behind. Lawrence sighed softly and took the wine cup from Holo's hand.
She had not been expecting this, evidently, and stared at the wine cup taken from her hand as though it was a truly mysterious thing.
"My wine?" she said, dazed.
She was quite charming when she was like this, but instead of a reply, Lawrence produced something from his breast pocket.
He had not left Holo behind to take care of an errand he'd "forgotten." His destination had been a money changer or goldsmith or anywhere that an artisan who worked in iron or silver might be found.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | It was a circuitous explanation, but the shopkeeper was no amateur. He nodded immediately. "Do not worry," he said. "If she can tell the fakes from the genuine article, I'd be prepared to thank her appropriately."
He placed a weight on one side of a set of scales and then balanced it with an amount of copper coins.
The deal was done.
"Well then, Holo."
"Er...hmm...good wheat bread, then."
A bit of red dye would tint the whole barrel, the old saying went. Holo made her request, and Lawrence immediately nodded.
Evidently the spice the shopkeeper had at hand was rather valuable, as the amount he had proposed to Lawrence was a tidy sum. There would be money left over even after buying Holo the bread she craved. He did not mind, as long as the entirety of this unexpected profit was not used up.
"Ah," murmured Lawrence to himself.
Holo sniffed at a sprig of herb that the shopkeeper gave her and looked up at him. "What makes you say that?" she asked Lawrence.
"Oh, nothing. I just remembered something I need to do. I'll be right back—just stay here."
Holo looked none too pleased, but the shopkeeper seemed to be fine with any arrangement that included Holo staying there and sniff testing his wares.
Lawrence lightly patted Holo's shoulder and walked off without waiting for her to reply.
He walked quickly through the town streets, making for his destination. The streets were more crowde, now, with people hurrying home.
The coins in his coin purse jingled.
Once Lawrence finished his errand, he returned to the shop, where he found Holo and the shopkeeper drinking wine.
He was extolling the virtues of apothecaries as he drank, so evidently the smell-detection work had finished.
The shopkeeper was the first to notice Lawrence, and he emerged from the front of the shop with a great smile on his face, as though he was about to pick Lawrence up in a warm embrace. "Well, well! Your girl's nose is truly a wonder. Dunking the fake in wine soon revealed the lie! I very nearly took a terrible loss," he said.
"I'm pleased to hear it. I see you've added wine to her payment."
"It's nothing compared with the loss I would've suffered. And of course, my consideration will be a generous one," he said and hurried back inside his shop.
Holo was drinking wine with a very satisfied look on her face, and given that she had already been drunk earlier that same evening, the look in her eye was a bit suspicious.
"You've drunk too much."
"Hmm? I've finished a hard day's work! And unlike a certain someone who did nothing but tuck the profit away in their coin purse, I'm quite tired."
Perhaps angry at having been left behind, she shoved her finger at Lawrence's chest, and her eyes were surprisingly serious.
In lieu of an apology, Lawrence plucked an herb fragment away from the corner of Holo's mouth. He sniffed it; it was an herb often said to go well with wine.
"Given that, I suppose you weren't able to do what we originally came here to do?"
At Lawrence's words, Holo drank more wine in noisy gulps and replied in an aggrieved tone, "Searching for a scent that wolves don't like means essentially that I have to put my nose to things I myself hate. Why must I do such a thing, pray tell?"
It was unclear whether she was speaking purposefully or whether it was just the wine, but in any case Holo was clearly upset at Lawrence leaving her behind. Lawrence sighed softly and took the wine cup from Holo's hand.
She had not been expecting this, evidently, and stared at the wine cup taken from her hand as though it was a truly mysterious thing.
"My wine?" she said, dazed.
She was quite charming when she was like this, but instead of a reply, Lawrence produced something from his breast pocket.
He had not left Holo behind to take care of an errand he'd "forgotten." His destination had been a money changer or goldsmith or anywhere that an artisan who worked in iron or silver might be found.
| Lawrence produced the gift and handed it to Holo.
It was a schmie coin, with a hole put in it, hung on a thread.
"Is this...?"
"I can spare a single silver piece. And a dignified image like this one suits you."
Holo looked closely at the coin, then back up at Lawrence.
Her eyes were moist (perhaps that was the wine), but Lawrence knew he would never forget her shy smile in that moment for as long as he lived.
"Still," said Holo to Lawrence, "if I wear something like this, it might well keep me from encountering my kind during our travels."
Given that the schmie coin was used as a wolf ward, Lawrence took Holo's point. He took the string from which the coin dangled and affixed it about her neck. "Then wear it only when we're in a town."
Holo let him do as he wished, putting a question to him as he drew near to pass the thread under her hair. "What do you mean by that?"
The wine-blended scent that tickled Lawrence's nose was not any spice or oil; it was Holo's own faintly sweet scent.
He was feeling rather bold. "To keep away the wolves of the towns."
Holo stiffened in such sudden surprise that Lawrence was glad he had taken her wine cup away.
Her ears pricked up so stiffly that they nearly dislodged her kerchief, and, unable to contain her mirth, Holo doubled over in laughter.
Just then the shopkeeper emerged, bringing their consideration, and his eyes went wide at the scene.
Lawrence gave the man a rueful smile, just as Holo righted herself and took Lawrence's arm. "Bah-hah-hah-hah. Oh, you're a fool, you are. A grand fool."
"Not bad, eh?"
"Keh-heh-heh!" Holo continued laughing and straightened herself. "That was the foulest one today."
"Foul enough to keep wolves from bothering us?"
Holo grinned.
Lawrence received the payment from the shopkeeper—who was quite taken aback at Holo's laughter—and returned to him coin enough to pay for the wine Holo had drunk.
The shopkeeper tried to hire Holo on the spot, but of course was turned down. Lawrence led Holo off as they began to walk.
She clung tightly to Lawrence's arm, still giggling, and did not immediately let go.
It was as the stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky that a memory called to Lawrence. "Oh, that's right. If it was truly so foul..."
"Hmm?"
"...Then you shouldn't mind the burning peat so much anymore, eh?"
Holo, already teary-eyed from laughter, chuckled again and took a deep breath. "I concede it! You win."
At her breast hung the silver schmie piece.
In the twilight, the regal wolf on its face seemed to sigh a long-suffering sigh.
End.
***
Looking back, she had come quite a distance from the wagon.
Teasing the family of hares had been good fun, but evidently she had gotten carried away. She gave the sash about her waist a flutter, smiling at the hares as if to say, "Playtime's over!" Whereupon the doe and kit looked at each other, then hopped off about their business.
"Now then," she said and began to return to her own den. It was a strange den, though—made of iron and wood, wheeled, and pulled behind a horse.
Occasionally it was filled with goods, but at the moment it was carrying little of note, which made it most pleasant. When the wagon was too heavily loaded, it was cramped and uncomfortable, and when it carried nothing, it was too cold.
But with enough space between the wooden crates, canvas could be stretched between them, enclosing the space and making it quite cozy, as well as serving as good protection from the wind. Then some grain sacks for pillows and plenty of blankets to curl up under, and she could lie there and count the planks in the crates or look up at the sky.
Today the weather was fine, which meant the blankets would be delightfully warm. Just imagining it was enough to make her yawn, especially given that she'd just eaten her midday meal.
Human mouths had their troublesome cheeks and were thus a bit cramped, but only humans could raise their arms to stretch while they yawned.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Lawrence produced the gift and handed it to Holo.
It was a schmie coin, with a hole put in it, hung on a thread.
"Is this...?"
"I can spare a single silver piece. And a dignified image like this one suits you."
Holo looked closely at the coin, then back up at Lawrence.
Her eyes were moist (perhaps that was the wine), but Lawrence knew he would never forget her shy smile in that moment for as long as he lived.
"Still," said Holo to Lawrence, "if I wear something like this, it might well keep me from encountering my kind during our travels."
Given that the schmie coin was used as a wolf ward, Lawrence took Holo's point. He took the string from which the coin dangled and affixed it about her neck. "Then wear it only when we're in a town."
Holo let him do as he wished, putting a question to him as he drew near to pass the thread under her hair. "What do you mean by that?"
The wine-blended scent that tickled Lawrence's nose was not any spice or oil; it was Holo's own faintly sweet scent.
He was feeling rather bold. "To keep away the wolves of the towns."
Holo stiffened in such sudden surprise that Lawrence was glad he had taken her wine cup away.
Her ears pricked up so stiffly that they nearly dislodged her kerchief, and, unable to contain her mirth, Holo doubled over in laughter.
Just then the shopkeeper emerged, bringing their consideration, and his eyes went wide at the scene.
Lawrence gave the man a rueful smile, just as Holo righted herself and took Lawrence's arm. "Bah-hah-hah-hah. Oh, you're a fool, you are. A grand fool."
"Not bad, eh?"
"Keh-heh-heh!" Holo continued laughing and straightened herself. "That was the foulest one today."
"Foul enough to keep wolves from bothering us?"
Holo grinned.
Lawrence received the payment from the shopkeeper—who was quite taken aback at Holo's laughter—and returned to him coin enough to pay for the wine Holo had drunk.
The shopkeeper tried to hire Holo on the spot, but of course was turned down. Lawrence led Holo off as they began to walk.
She clung tightly to Lawrence's arm, still giggling, and did not immediately let go.
It was as the stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky that a memory called to Lawrence. "Oh, that's right. If it was truly so foul..."
"Hmm?"
"...Then you shouldn't mind the burning peat so much anymore, eh?"
Holo, already teary-eyed from laughter, chuckled again and took a deep breath. "I concede it! You win."
At her breast hung the silver schmie piece.
In the twilight, the regal wolf on its face seemed to sigh a long-suffering sigh.
End.
***
Looking back, she had come quite a distance from the wagon.
Teasing the family of hares had been good fun, but evidently she had gotten carried away. She gave the sash about her waist a flutter, smiling at the hares as if to say, "Playtime's over!" Whereupon the doe and kit looked at each other, then hopped off about their business.
"Now then," she said and began to return to her own den. It was a strange den, though—made of iron and wood, wheeled, and pulled behind a horse.
Occasionally it was filled with goods, but at the moment it was carrying little of note, which made it most pleasant. When the wagon was too heavily loaded, it was cramped and uncomfortable, and when it carried nothing, it was too cold.
But with enough space between the wooden crates, canvas could be stretched between them, enclosing the space and making it quite cozy, as well as serving as good protection from the wind. Then some grain sacks for pillows and plenty of blankets to curl up under, and she could lie there and count the planks in the crates or look up at the sky.
Today the weather was fine, which meant the blankets would be delightfully warm. Just imagining it was enough to make her yawn, especially given that she'd just eaten her midday meal.
Human mouths had their troublesome cheeks and were thus a bit cramped, but only humans could raise their arms to stretch while they yawned.
| To put it in wolf terms, it was like being able to change the color of her fur every morning, depending on her mood. How could that be anything but delightful?
But of course her greatest delight was in showing her many looks to someone and seeing their reactions.
And to that end, her traveling companion was second to none. A muffler and a robe was all it took to elicit a great fuss.
If there was a problem, it was that these decorations cost money. She felt it something of a disgrace for her, a wisewolf, to worry about human money, but given that she was traveling in human form with a human, it could not be helped.
Moreover, her companion was a traveling merchant and was tiresomely attached to his money. Even the stop at this very field, which he had said was because of the pleasant weather and the need to stop for the midday meal, was obviously for some other reason as well.
He had been distracted the previous evening, and when she had spoken to him, he had given only vague replies. Only minutes ago during their meal, his gaze was off in the distance, as it had been the whole while, and he had not even noticed her steal two separate pieces of cheese.
As for what her companion was thinking about, it seemed to be the coins and pelts they had seen in town.
There was an exhausting variety of both coins and pelts that circulated in the human world, and evidently the rates of exchange between them were a cause of great concern. To wit: Black pelts could be traded for silver coins, and those white-silver coins exchanged for brown pelts, which would be traded for red-copper coins, which could be used to purchase black pelts again, but at a profit.
To that end, he had been tallying figures ever since the previous night.
She knew that money was necessary to travel in the human world, as it was necessary for everything else, and as her companion was traveling first and foremost to make money, she had little cause to complain.
Far from it—when she regarded her pathetically toiling companion, she could not bring herself to ask him to buy her something that they could not even eat.
Still, it made her tail puff up a bit to see him still off in his own world, not even noticing that she'd returned to the wagon.
"Come now, how long must we stay here?" she said, spreading her blanket out. Her harsh tone seemed to do the job, as her companion finally looked up from the wooden plank. He seemed not to have eaten properly and was scratching figures into a wooden slate that had been coated with wax.
"Mm...oh, look at the hour." No matter the place, it was a trick of humans that they all seemed to be able to tell the time with a quick glance at the sky.
He hastily packed up his board and writing stick, his mouth filled with bread.
He seemed not to have noticed the two pieces of cheese that had been stolen and eaten.
"Are you finished with your walk?" asked her companion rather suddenly as she arranged the blanket on the planks and made ready to curl up under it. She had been so certain he had taken no notice of her, but apparently he had.
"I suppose 'twould have made you uneasy if I'd gone too far."
Her companion laughed easily, and the sight of his foolish smile made her want (rather maliciously) to truly vanish for a time and see how he liked that.
His foolishness was like that of a cat that is terrified of water but tries to catch fish anyway. "No matter how far you might roam, you'd always come back as soon as your belly was empty," was his reply.
It would have been ridiculous to be angry at him, so she merely smiled. At this, her foolish companion grinned proudly, as though he was quite sure he had gotten the better of her.
She deserved praise for letting him stray so far.
"Well, then, I'll harness the horse and we'll be on our way." Her companion climbed down from the driver's seat and approached the horse, that had been loosed.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | To put it in wolf terms, it was like being able to change the color of her fur every morning, depending on her mood. How could that be anything but delightful?
But of course her greatest delight was in showing her many looks to someone and seeing their reactions.
And to that end, her traveling companion was second to none. A muffler and a robe was all it took to elicit a great fuss.
If there was a problem, it was that these decorations cost money. She felt it something of a disgrace for her, a wisewolf, to worry about human money, but given that she was traveling in human form with a human, it could not be helped.
Moreover, her companion was a traveling merchant and was tiresomely attached to his money. Even the stop at this very field, which he had said was because of the pleasant weather and the need to stop for the midday meal, was obviously for some other reason as well.
He had been distracted the previous evening, and when she had spoken to him, he had given only vague replies. Only minutes ago during their meal, his gaze was off in the distance, as it had been the whole while, and he had not even noticed her steal two separate pieces of cheese.
As for what her companion was thinking about, it seemed to be the coins and pelts they had seen in town.
There was an exhausting variety of both coins and pelts that circulated in the human world, and evidently the rates of exchange between them were a cause of great concern. To wit: Black pelts could be traded for silver coins, and those white-silver coins exchanged for brown pelts, which would be traded for red-copper coins, which could be used to purchase black pelts again, but at a profit.
To that end, he had been tallying figures ever since the previous night.
She knew that money was necessary to travel in the human world, as it was necessary for everything else, and as her companion was traveling first and foremost to make money, she had little cause to complain.
Far from it—when she regarded her pathetically toiling companion, she could not bring herself to ask him to buy her something that they could not even eat.
Still, it made her tail puff up a bit to see him still off in his own world, not even noticing that she'd returned to the wagon.
"Come now, how long must we stay here?" she said, spreading her blanket out. Her harsh tone seemed to do the job, as her companion finally looked up from the wooden plank. He seemed not to have eaten properly and was scratching figures into a wooden slate that had been coated with wax.
"Mm...oh, look at the hour." No matter the place, it was a trick of humans that they all seemed to be able to tell the time with a quick glance at the sky.
He hastily packed up his board and writing stick, his mouth filled with bread.
He seemed not to have noticed the two pieces of cheese that had been stolen and eaten.
"Are you finished with your walk?" asked her companion rather suddenly as she arranged the blanket on the planks and made ready to curl up under it. She had been so certain he had taken no notice of her, but apparently he had.
"I suppose 'twould have made you uneasy if I'd gone too far."
Her companion laughed easily, and the sight of his foolish smile made her want (rather maliciously) to truly vanish for a time and see how he liked that.
His foolishness was like that of a cat that is terrified of water but tries to catch fish anyway. "No matter how far you might roam, you'd always come back as soon as your belly was empty," was his reply.
It would have been ridiculous to be angry at him, so she merely smiled. At this, her foolish companion grinned proudly, as though he was quite sure he had gotten the better of her.
She deserved praise for letting him stray so far.
"Well, then, I'll harness the horse and we'll be on our way." Her companion climbed down from the driver's seat and approached the horse, that had been loosed.
| He prized money above all but his own life, sometimes bizarrely so. And yet when one might expect him to be miserly with the money he earned, he could be strangely generous, at which she always found her tail wagging.
Her companion had a tendency to believe she could be wooed with food, but regardless of how good those humans were at cooking, she wondered if he truly considered that a wisewolf such as herself could always be distracted by food?
The notion that she would return simply because she was hungry—how absurd!
She would return because she did not relish the notion of eating alone, and she wagged her tail out of pleasure that he saw fit to spend his precious coin on her, that was all.
"Fool."
Her companion's horse was eating field grass, and he shook his head in irritation at it, tugging it this way and that. Yet he still fancied himself a cool, collected wolf among humans, which struck her as very funny indeed. "He's but a sheep," she murmured to herself and rested her cheek on the wagon bed's edge.
There in the still sunlight, she watched her foolish companion. She had no dissatisfaction, nor any complaints.
A smile played about her lips in spite of herself and grew wider as she realized her own silliness. "Perhaps I'm the fool, after all," she murmured in amusement, dropping her gaze to the ground.
And then—there, between the blades of grass, was something strange.
"What's that?"
She leaned over to look at it, but still could not quite make it out. Finally she got out of the wagon bed and picked it up. It was a beast's head rendered in metal and hung about a leather cord.
"What is this?" she murmured, peering at it, then heard the voice of her companion.
"Easy, easy!" The horse, evidently enjoying its rare freedom, seemed displeased at this interruption.
She met his dark black eyes and caught there a flicker of spite. But the horse would have had any number of chances to run away had he wanted to. In other words, he was just having some fun at her companion's expense.
Well, it served him right.
"Come, don't buck like that! Yes, fine, I see how it is...there we go."
Her companion was used to this, though, and quickly harnessed the horse back up to the wagon while murmuring soothing words.
It was quite charming to see a usually perfect person suddenly act foolish, but not nearly as so to see a foolish person show surprising skill.
But when the horse gave her companion a long-suffering nudge with his nose, said companion was back to his usual self.
"Honestly...well, then, let's be off. Er...what is it?"
He seemed to have thought she had already curled up under the blankets in the wagon. She was about to ask him about the item she had picked up, but decided to think on it for a while first, and in the end said nothing.
She gave a vague reply, then climbed up one of the wheels and into the wagon bed.
Her companion seemed unworried. He climbed back into the driver's seat, took up the reins, and started the cart moving forward. Their journey resumed.
In the gently swaying bed, she curled up atop the blankets and again inspected the item she'd retrieved.
All sorts of metals and gems she had never heard of circulated in the human world, but of the metals she was familiar with, this seemed to be lead. It was about the size of the last joint of her thumb and seemed to depict the head of a dog, a fox, or perhaps a clumsily rendered wolf.
It must have been made quite a long time in the past, as it was well rounded and many of the finer details had blackened. Yet the feeling of long use made it, if anything, a more fascinating piece.
This particular wisewolf found such objects suited her better than newer, shinier ones. And given that this one was already so conveniently fastened to a leather cord, the notion of putting it on just to see her companion's reaction had a certain appeal.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He prized money above all but his own life, sometimes bizarrely so. And yet when one might expect him to be miserly with the money he earned, he could be strangely generous, at which she always found her tail wagging.
Her companion had a tendency to believe she could be wooed with food, but regardless of how good those humans were at cooking, she wondered if he truly considered that a wisewolf such as herself could always be distracted by food?
The notion that she would return simply because she was hungry—how absurd!
She would return because she did not relish the notion of eating alone, and she wagged her tail out of pleasure that he saw fit to spend his precious coin on her, that was all.
"Fool."
Her companion's horse was eating field grass, and he shook his head in irritation at it, tugging it this way and that. Yet he still fancied himself a cool, collected wolf among humans, which struck her as very funny indeed. "He's but a sheep," she murmured to herself and rested her cheek on the wagon bed's edge.
There in the still sunlight, she watched her foolish companion. She had no dissatisfaction, nor any complaints.
A smile played about her lips in spite of herself and grew wider as she realized her own silliness. "Perhaps I'm the fool, after all," she murmured in amusement, dropping her gaze to the ground.
And then—there, between the blades of grass, was something strange.
"What's that?"
She leaned over to look at it, but still could not quite make it out. Finally she got out of the wagon bed and picked it up. It was a beast's head rendered in metal and hung about a leather cord.
"What is this?" she murmured, peering at it, then heard the voice of her companion.
"Easy, easy!" The horse, evidently enjoying its rare freedom, seemed displeased at this interruption.
She met his dark black eyes and caught there a flicker of spite. But the horse would have had any number of chances to run away had he wanted to. In other words, he was just having some fun at her companion's expense.
Well, it served him right.
"Come, don't buck like that! Yes, fine, I see how it is...there we go."
Her companion was used to this, though, and quickly harnessed the horse back up to the wagon while murmuring soothing words.
It was quite charming to see a usually perfect person suddenly act foolish, but not nearly as so to see a foolish person show surprising skill.
But when the horse gave her companion a long-suffering nudge with his nose, said companion was back to his usual self.
"Honestly...well, then, let's be off. Er...what is it?"
He seemed to have thought she had already curled up under the blankets in the wagon. She was about to ask him about the item she had picked up, but decided to think on it for a while first, and in the end said nothing.
She gave a vague reply, then climbed up one of the wheels and into the wagon bed.
Her companion seemed unworried. He climbed back into the driver's seat, took up the reins, and started the cart moving forward. Their journey resumed.
In the gently swaying bed, she curled up atop the blankets and again inspected the item she'd retrieved.
All sorts of metals and gems she had never heard of circulated in the human world, but of the metals she was familiar with, this seemed to be lead. It was about the size of the last joint of her thumb and seemed to depict the head of a dog, a fox, or perhaps a clumsily rendered wolf.
It must have been made quite a long time in the past, as it was well rounded and many of the finer details had blackened. Yet the feeling of long use made it, if anything, a more fascinating piece.
This particular wisewolf found such objects suited her better than newer, shinier ones. And given that this one was already so conveniently fastened to a leather cord, the notion of putting it on just to see her companion's reaction had a certain appeal.
| She was trying to work out how to wear it when the thought finally came to her.
Since humans fastened their hair with all manner of ties, would it be so strange for a wolf to do likewise with the most splendid bit of her coat? Surely not. The cord was a mite too long, but with a bit of adjustment she got it secured nicely.
The lead device was only about the size of her thumb, so it did not look bad at all.
Tying a leather cord around her tail—such a notion would never have occurred to her in either the wilds or the wheat fields without the influence of humans.
She stood, spinning around like a puppy and chasing the adornment affixed about the middle of her tail. "Ooh-hu-hu-hu," she giggled, her face breaking into a smile from the pleasure of this unexpected find.
"Oh, that's right. There was something I wanted to ask you about," her companion said from the driver's seat.
He turned around. There was no chance for her to hide how she was curled around her own tail, admiring it.
But given that she had planned to show it to him anyway, she merely turned to face her stunned companion and waved her tail proudly. "What say you? Not bad, eh?"
She put her hand on her hips and twirled, doing her best imitation of the dancing town lasses she had seen on their travels.
Her companion's gaze remained fixed on her tail. He seemed to be at a loss for words. "It's, er, nice, but..."
But? Was he too abashed to simply admit how nice it looked that he had to add some sort of qualification? How adorable! she thought.
"Where did you get that?" her companion continued.
"Hmm? I picked it up over yonder." She regarded the piece again. It really did suit her well. Its nearly black-gray had a lovely presence amid her dark brown, white-tufted fur.
She wagged her tail, and her companion regarded her with a strange expression for a while before merely saying, "Ah," then turning to face forward again. This from her companion, who lost his composure if she so much as cocked her head in the manner of a town girl!
Surely this was proof of just how thoroughly the adornment suited her.
She sighed through her nose, then hopped up into the driver's seat. "So, what was it you wished to ask me?" Owing to the height difference, she had to look up at him to ask.
When in wolf form, she looked down on most creatures. Perhaps because of that, she had initially found looking up to feel rather subordinate, but lately she had come to enjoy it a certain amount.
And if her companion was going to be elusive, so much the better.
She stifled any sort of grin and simply looked up at him like an innocent pup. Her companion glanced over at her, trying to hide his obvious fluster.
If there was anything she looked forward to as much as mealtime, it was this.
She beamed at him, and he cleared his throat nervously before finally speaking. "Ahem. Er, no, it's not anything of importance, but..." As he talked, he glanced at her tail. "The town we were in until yesterday—about the quality of the furs there..."
"Mm."
Evidently he wanted to broach the subject of profit.
But when her companion made a profit, she was able to eat tasty things, which was always a fine thing. She felt no particular need to flatter him, but if she was going to travel with him anyway, she might as well do so with a smile.
Now she, too, cleared her throat, giving him an indulgent look. "Mm."
At this, her companion began to pepper her with questions about the quality of this or that pelt. Humans, for their part, judged the fineness of a pelt with their eyes and hands, but she was able to divine the quality on the spot, with no more than a sniff from her nose.
As she answered him, explaining that this one was fine and that one was not, she saw her companion's attention very clearly shift from her, then and there, to his memories of the goods they had seen.
When she had answered his last question, he did not so much as thank her, instead simply sinking into silence.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | She was trying to work out how to wear it when the thought finally came to her.
Since humans fastened their hair with all manner of ties, would it be so strange for a wolf to do likewise with the most splendid bit of her coat? Surely not. The cord was a mite too long, but with a bit of adjustment she got it secured nicely.
The lead device was only about the size of her thumb, so it did not look bad at all.
Tying a leather cord around her tail—such a notion would never have occurred to her in either the wilds or the wheat fields without the influence of humans.
She stood, spinning around like a puppy and chasing the adornment affixed about the middle of her tail. "Ooh-hu-hu-hu," she giggled, her face breaking into a smile from the pleasure of this unexpected find.
"Oh, that's right. There was something I wanted to ask you about," her companion said from the driver's seat.
He turned around. There was no chance for her to hide how she was curled around her own tail, admiring it.
But given that she had planned to show it to him anyway, she merely turned to face her stunned companion and waved her tail proudly. "What say you? Not bad, eh?"
She put her hand on her hips and twirled, doing her best imitation of the dancing town lasses she had seen on their travels.
Her companion's gaze remained fixed on her tail. He seemed to be at a loss for words. "It's, er, nice, but..."
But? Was he too abashed to simply admit how nice it looked that he had to add some sort of qualification? How adorable! she thought.
"Where did you get that?" her companion continued.
"Hmm? I picked it up over yonder." She regarded the piece again. It really did suit her well. Its nearly black-gray had a lovely presence amid her dark brown, white-tufted fur.
She wagged her tail, and her companion regarded her with a strange expression for a while before merely saying, "Ah," then turning to face forward again. This from her companion, who lost his composure if she so much as cocked her head in the manner of a town girl!
Surely this was proof of just how thoroughly the adornment suited her.
She sighed through her nose, then hopped up into the driver's seat. "So, what was it you wished to ask me?" Owing to the height difference, she had to look up at him to ask.
When in wolf form, she looked down on most creatures. Perhaps because of that, she had initially found looking up to feel rather subordinate, but lately she had come to enjoy it a certain amount.
And if her companion was going to be elusive, so much the better.
She stifled any sort of grin and simply looked up at him like an innocent pup. Her companion glanced over at her, trying to hide his obvious fluster.
If there was anything she looked forward to as much as mealtime, it was this.
She beamed at him, and he cleared his throat nervously before finally speaking. "Ahem. Er, no, it's not anything of importance, but..." As he talked, he glanced at her tail. "The town we were in until yesterday—about the quality of the furs there..."
"Mm."
Evidently he wanted to broach the subject of profit.
But when her companion made a profit, she was able to eat tasty things, which was always a fine thing. She felt no particular need to flatter him, but if she was going to travel with him anyway, she might as well do so with a smile.
Now she, too, cleared her throat, giving him an indulgent look. "Mm."
At this, her companion began to pepper her with questions about the quality of this or that pelt. Humans, for their part, judged the fineness of a pelt with their eyes and hands, but she was able to divine the quality on the spot, with no more than a sniff from her nose.
As she answered him, explaining that this one was fine and that one was not, she saw her companion's attention very clearly shift from her, then and there, to his memories of the goods they had seen.
When she had answered his last question, he did not so much as thank her, instead simply sinking into silence.
| He placed the waxed board with its tallies and figures scrawled all over it on his knee, and after murmuring something to himself, suddenly exclaimed, "Yes! I knew it!"
Humans, with their bad noses and bad ears, tended to have the unpleasant habit of shouting too loudly.
She was not the only one surprised; the horse was startled, too. Her companion, though, took no notice of this, and he roughly tossed the writing board back into the wagon and took up the reins. He pulled on them to stop the horse.
"...What is it?" she asked, rubbing her still-stinging ears like a cat would. Her companion's face was tiresomely cheerful.
"There's a gap in the marketplace. We can make some real money!"
As he turned the wagon around to head back the way they had come, he looked like a pup too young to have all of his teeth yet.
Having spent so much time with a merchant, she had grown to understand the basics of commerce. But she still wondered how a series of buying and selling that ended up with the same goods they started with could possibly turn a profit.
According to her companion, it could.
"You'll be despised if you bring out a mountain of small coins to pay for an expensive item, and if you try to buy a small thing with a high-value coin, it's the same thing. So people use coins appropriate for the various goods they're buying. But sometimes furs are simply exchanged for furs, and the same goes for coins. So—"
"So in all that exchange, sometimes there are places where they aren't equivalent, aye?"
"That's right. I've calculated it over and over, and there's no mistaking it. By doing nothing more than buying and selling in town, we can make twenty, maybe even thirty percent. It's a grand opportunity!"
That might well have been true, but her companion's excitement was dampening her own. And she had yet to be properly complimented on the tail adornment she had so cleverly put on.
But of course, her companion was unable to pay attention to more than one thing at once. She really could not expect too much from him.
They entered the town's walls they had only just left that morning. It was just as crowded as it had always been, and looking at the crowd, she could not help but wonder if her companion had truly considered whether out of all these people, not a single one had noticed the gap he thought he had discovered.
Of course, no matter the endeavor, both successes and failures were common. At the very least, she had to admit that her companion had brought her on adventures the likes of which she had nearly forgotten after so long.
Watching him glance here and there in his impatience to begin trading was quite amusing. But then—no sooner had they stabled the horse than her companion looked to her and spoke.
"Now then, would you go and wait for me in the tavern?"
"Wha...?" she said, frozen in place. She had been certain that she would be going along with him, to sniff out the quality of the pelts and to listen to the sounds of the coins, that for a moment she honestly thought she was being teased.
"I'll be going to shops all over the town. With these crowds, I think you'd hate being dragged this way and that, wouldn't you?"
Unfair, she thought. If she was going to be such a burden for him to bring along, he could at least say so. But he obviously did not want to bring her, so when he said, "...Wouldn't you?" how could she reply but to agree?
Only merchants were so skilled at exploiting the difference between inward intention and outward expression to manipulate things for their own ends. Her companion did this quite frequently, though he was not particularly aware of it.
"Aye, I suppose not," she said, faking a vague smile, not bothering to hide her irritation from her companion. But he seemed to misunderstand and patted her head as though she were a pup.
He probably thought she was merely pouting at being left alone. And would he even now think her to be holding his reins?
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | He placed the waxed board with its tallies and figures scrawled all over it on his knee, and after murmuring something to himself, suddenly exclaimed, "Yes! I knew it!"
Humans, with their bad noses and bad ears, tended to have the unpleasant habit of shouting too loudly.
She was not the only one surprised; the horse was startled, too. Her companion, though, took no notice of this, and he roughly tossed the writing board back into the wagon and took up the reins. He pulled on them to stop the horse.
"...What is it?" she asked, rubbing her still-stinging ears like a cat would. Her companion's face was tiresomely cheerful.
"There's a gap in the marketplace. We can make some real money!"
As he turned the wagon around to head back the way they had come, he looked like a pup too young to have all of his teeth yet.
Having spent so much time with a merchant, she had grown to understand the basics of commerce. But she still wondered how a series of buying and selling that ended up with the same goods they started with could possibly turn a profit.
According to her companion, it could.
"You'll be despised if you bring out a mountain of small coins to pay for an expensive item, and if you try to buy a small thing with a high-value coin, it's the same thing. So people use coins appropriate for the various goods they're buying. But sometimes furs are simply exchanged for furs, and the same goes for coins. So—"
"So in all that exchange, sometimes there are places where they aren't equivalent, aye?"
"That's right. I've calculated it over and over, and there's no mistaking it. By doing nothing more than buying and selling in town, we can make twenty, maybe even thirty percent. It's a grand opportunity!"
That might well have been true, but her companion's excitement was dampening her own. And she had yet to be properly complimented on the tail adornment she had so cleverly put on.
But of course, her companion was unable to pay attention to more than one thing at once. She really could not expect too much from him.
They entered the town's walls they had only just left that morning. It was just as crowded as it had always been, and looking at the crowd, she could not help but wonder if her companion had truly considered whether out of all these people, not a single one had noticed the gap he thought he had discovered.
Of course, no matter the endeavor, both successes and failures were common. At the very least, she had to admit that her companion had brought her on adventures the likes of which she had nearly forgotten after so long.
Watching him glance here and there in his impatience to begin trading was quite amusing. But then—no sooner had they stabled the horse than her companion looked to her and spoke.
"Now then, would you go and wait for me in the tavern?"
"Wha...?" she said, frozen in place. She had been certain that she would be going along with him, to sniff out the quality of the pelts and to listen to the sounds of the coins, that for a moment she honestly thought she was being teased.
"I'll be going to shops all over the town. With these crowds, I think you'd hate being dragged this way and that, wouldn't you?"
Unfair, she thought. If she was going to be such a burden for him to bring along, he could at least say so. But he obviously did not want to bring her, so when he said, "...Wouldn't you?" how could she reply but to agree?
Only merchants were so skilled at exploiting the difference between inward intention and outward expression to manipulate things for their own ends. Her companion did this quite frequently, though he was not particularly aware of it.
"Aye, I suppose not," she said, faking a vague smile, not bothering to hide her irritation from her companion. But he seemed to misunderstand and patted her head as though she were a pup.
He probably thought she was merely pouting at being left alone. And would he even now think her to be holding his reins?
| "Still, I don't suppose you'll have me wait there without any means," she said. Her companion's arm looked thin, but it felt surprisingly sturdy as she took it.
He shot her his most sour look, but in the end, he gave her a single shiny silver piece. Evidently, he was confident in his current prospects.
"Don't use it all."
She did not bother to remind him that it would not have cost him a single copper had he only brought her along.
In truth, her companion probably had not had the time to leisurely take her around with him, because here in this walled town, the ringing of the bells marked the strict beginning and end of the day.
The ringing of this bell marked the opening of the market; the ringing of that bell meant the craftsmen could take their break. It was a spectacle, as though the whole town danced to the beat of the same drum. From her vantage point out of a second-story window of the inn, bottle of wine in hand, the rhythmic impression she got was particularly strong.
When she thought about it that way, her companion—who journeyed across the land, making his living with nothing but his wagon and his wits, beholden only to the movements of the sun and the moon—was unmistakably among the freest of humans.
Freedom and strength flowed from the same spring. Despite his foolishness and softheartedness, his belief in his own abilities gave him a mysteriously attractive strength.
She thought back on the memories of their journey together thus far, but this did not do much to soothe her frustration with being left behind—or rather, perhaps it was failing to quiet her anger.
With just a single silver coin to spend, she was forced into the corner of an open-fronted tavern. With night yet to fall, the only patrons were a few indolent travelers, along with some withered regulars, drying like fish in the sun. And even with them, there were not many there, so Holo wound up in one corner of the tavern, lazily watching the swirl of foot traffic stream by in front of the place.
Worse, she had not even had time to change clothes, so she was still dressed as what the humans called a nun.
Thanks to that, whenever anyone passed near her table, every single one of them said the same thing as they left her a small coin: "God's blessing be upon you."
Then they would put their hands together or occasionally seek to take hers in greeting, then return to their own table.
Despite how much she hated being worshipped, she found this particular form of respect paying so foolish she could not even be angry at it.
She ate her beans and sipped her wine in order to drown the occasional tears that her great yawns squeezed out.
Thinking of the times her foolish companion's business plans had not gone well, she had ordered sour wine of notably poor quality.
It was bad enough to keep her awake and bad enough to keep her mind on her anger at having been left alone. She was wiping a lingering drop from her lips with an irritated finger flick when a familiar figure entered her field of vision.
On his back was a great load of pelts, and he was walking straight ahead and purposefully, without so much as a sideways glance.
The look in his eyes was the one he had when things were going well.
Her companion seemed not to realize that whenever things were going his way, he wore an expression that made it obvious he thought he was being cool and collected. Likewise, whenever things went poorly, the desperation with which he fought back panic was also easy to see. He was always trying to keep his thoughts to himself.
Was the only time he was truly calm while he slept? Seeing him serene was so rare that she sometimes stayed up at night to watch him, just to see his quiet expression. She wondered what he would say if he knew.
He would probably become too self-conscious to sleep.
And yet that in and of itself was rather charming, she thought—and then realized she was out of wine.
Without anyone to talk to, it was all too easy to empty one's cup.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Still, I don't suppose you'll have me wait there without any means," she said. Her companion's arm looked thin, but it felt surprisingly sturdy as she took it.
He shot her his most sour look, but in the end, he gave her a single shiny silver piece. Evidently, he was confident in his current prospects.
"Don't use it all."
She did not bother to remind him that it would not have cost him a single copper had he only brought her along.
In truth, her companion probably had not had the time to leisurely take her around with him, because here in this walled town, the ringing of the bells marked the strict beginning and end of the day.
The ringing of this bell marked the opening of the market; the ringing of that bell meant the craftsmen could take their break. It was a spectacle, as though the whole town danced to the beat of the same drum. From her vantage point out of a second-story window of the inn, bottle of wine in hand, the rhythmic impression she got was particularly strong.
When she thought about it that way, her companion—who journeyed across the land, making his living with nothing but his wagon and his wits, beholden only to the movements of the sun and the moon—was unmistakably among the freest of humans.
Freedom and strength flowed from the same spring. Despite his foolishness and softheartedness, his belief in his own abilities gave him a mysteriously attractive strength.
She thought back on the memories of their journey together thus far, but this did not do much to soothe her frustration with being left behind—or rather, perhaps it was failing to quiet her anger.
With just a single silver coin to spend, she was forced into the corner of an open-fronted tavern. With night yet to fall, the only patrons were a few indolent travelers, along with some withered regulars, drying like fish in the sun. And even with them, there were not many there, so Holo wound up in one corner of the tavern, lazily watching the swirl of foot traffic stream by in front of the place.
Worse, she had not even had time to change clothes, so she was still dressed as what the humans called a nun.
Thanks to that, whenever anyone passed near her table, every single one of them said the same thing as they left her a small coin: "God's blessing be upon you."
Then they would put their hands together or occasionally seek to take hers in greeting, then return to their own table.
Despite how much she hated being worshipped, she found this particular form of respect paying so foolish she could not even be angry at it.
She ate her beans and sipped her wine in order to drown the occasional tears that her great yawns squeezed out.
Thinking of the times her foolish companion's business plans had not gone well, she had ordered sour wine of notably poor quality.
It was bad enough to keep her awake and bad enough to keep her mind on her anger at having been left alone. She was wiping a lingering drop from her lips with an irritated finger flick when a familiar figure entered her field of vision.
On his back was a great load of pelts, and he was walking straight ahead and purposefully, without so much as a sideways glance.
The look in his eyes was the one he had when things were going well.
Her companion seemed not to realize that whenever things were going his way, he wore an expression that made it obvious he thought he was being cool and collected. Likewise, whenever things went poorly, the desperation with which he fought back panic was also easy to see. He was always trying to keep his thoughts to himself.
Was the only time he was truly calm while he slept? Seeing him serene was so rare that she sometimes stayed up at night to watch him, just to see his quiet expression. She wondered what he would say if he knew.
He would probably become too self-conscious to sleep.
And yet that in and of itself was rather charming, she thought—and then realized she was out of wine.
Without anyone to talk to, it was all too easy to empty one's cup.
| Her companion came out of the swirl of humanity and entered her quiet little corner of the world, but only after passing by several times.
Having had nothing but the bad wine, her stomach had gotten sour, too, so she told him not to say a thing until he had ordered her some cheese or bread, about which he offered not a whit of complaint.
Rather, he wore a wide and satisfied smile. She would not have been surprised if he had scooped her up in his arms and nuzzled her with his face.
"I love the feeling of outsmarting everyone around me!" he said, pinching her cheek.
He was in high spirits indeed. And yet, he did not produce the requested coin, which was very like him.
"Just so long as you aren't caught at it."
"I'll be long gone before anyone catches me."
Given the adventures they'd had so far, it was comically rash for him to say such things, but it was pleasant to see him brimming with such confidence. Finally, he smiled and presented his winnings.
It was true, though—from the gradually increasing loads of fur on his back as he had traveled back and forth, she could tell he had been profiting.
Greater profit required greater capital.
She remembered the words from a previous misfortune, and surely the reason he had asked her to judge the quality of the pelts he started with was to understand the amount he stood to lose if things went poorly.
It was a sickening level of care, but it arose from his usual habits.
The way he observed and interacted with her, carefully and dispassionately, was the best example of this. It was conservative, even mercenary. If he ended up being unreliable when she truly needed him, she ought to give him a view of the dust she would kick up as she left him behind, but unfortunately doing so would tip her own hand, which hardly seemed fair.
And yet, he was often so courageous and bold. Such a troublesome fellow he was.
Such thoughts chased themselves through her head as she drained her cup. She was unsure how many she'd had. The cup seemed to empty itself so quickly she wondered if it had a hole in the bottom, and she turned it over to check. She was shocked by the sudden appearance of someone's foot in her vision. Evidently her senses had been somewhat dulled by the wine.
She looked up and saw her delighted companion. His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat.
"Success!" He plopped himself down, his coin purse full to bursting. "Though some others caught on to what I was doing, so the profit dropped a bit. We all pulled just before we would've been ruined, though."
Having sat himself down in a chair, her companion ordered wine, and as soon as it came, he drained half the cup in a single go, then sighed a happy sigh.
She could tell from the smell of his pride that he had done quite a bit of running around.
"I'd say we should drink a toast, but you're a bit too drunk for that," he said with a wry smile.
She was so overcome with the desire to show her displeasure that she brought her empty cup to her lips.
"Let's have some tastier wine tomorrow. We'll pass tonight at an inn. Ah, it's nice to make money," said her companion happily, draining the remnants of his cup.
No doubt he was sincerely happy. And faced with that smile of his, she could not help but smile herself.
"We ought to retire for the evening. Can you walk?"
She took the offered hand with a fondness as though it was the first offer in centuries, and all the hotter for her drunkenness. A warm sleepiness pervaded her as though soaking into her head.
Though it was shameful of a wisewolf to do so, as her companion paid up, her sleepiness drove her to hang on him like a grumpy pup.
"Steady now. We only have to go as far as the inn."
The more he told her to be steady or asked if she were all right, the more wobbly the ground beneath her seemed.
She let herself be taken by the hand like a child, and they went out into the twilight town.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Her companion came out of the swirl of humanity and entered her quiet little corner of the world, but only after passing by several times.
Having had nothing but the bad wine, her stomach had gotten sour, too, so she told him not to say a thing until he had ordered her some cheese or bread, about which he offered not a whit of complaint.
Rather, he wore a wide and satisfied smile. She would not have been surprised if he had scooped her up in his arms and nuzzled her with his face.
"I love the feeling of outsmarting everyone around me!" he said, pinching her cheek.
He was in high spirits indeed. And yet, he did not produce the requested coin, which was very like him.
"Just so long as you aren't caught at it."
"I'll be long gone before anyone catches me."
Given the adventures they'd had so far, it was comically rash for him to say such things, but it was pleasant to see him brimming with such confidence. Finally, he smiled and presented his winnings.
It was true, though—from the gradually increasing loads of fur on his back as he had traveled back and forth, she could tell he had been profiting.
Greater profit required greater capital.
She remembered the words from a previous misfortune, and surely the reason he had asked her to judge the quality of the pelts he started with was to understand the amount he stood to lose if things went poorly.
It was a sickening level of care, but it arose from his usual habits.
The way he observed and interacted with her, carefully and dispassionately, was the best example of this. It was conservative, even mercenary. If he ended up being unreliable when she truly needed him, she ought to give him a view of the dust she would kick up as she left him behind, but unfortunately doing so would tip her own hand, which hardly seemed fair.
And yet, he was often so courageous and bold. Such a troublesome fellow he was.
Such thoughts chased themselves through her head as she drained her cup. She was unsure how many she'd had. The cup seemed to empty itself so quickly she wondered if it had a hole in the bottom, and she turned it over to check. She was shocked by the sudden appearance of someone's foot in her vision. Evidently her senses had been somewhat dulled by the wine.
She looked up and saw her delighted companion. His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat.
"Success!" He plopped himself down, his coin purse full to bursting. "Though some others caught on to what I was doing, so the profit dropped a bit. We all pulled just before we would've been ruined, though."
Having sat himself down in a chair, her companion ordered wine, and as soon as it came, he drained half the cup in a single go, then sighed a happy sigh.
She could tell from the smell of his pride that he had done quite a bit of running around.
"I'd say we should drink a toast, but you're a bit too drunk for that," he said with a wry smile.
She was so overcome with the desire to show her displeasure that she brought her empty cup to her lips.
"Let's have some tastier wine tomorrow. We'll pass tonight at an inn. Ah, it's nice to make money," said her companion happily, draining the remnants of his cup.
No doubt he was sincerely happy. And faced with that smile of his, she could not help but smile herself.
"We ought to retire for the evening. Can you walk?"
She took the offered hand with a fondness as though it was the first offer in centuries, and all the hotter for her drunkenness. A warm sleepiness pervaded her as though soaking into her head.
Though it was shameful of a wisewolf to do so, as her companion paid up, her sleepiness drove her to hang on him like a grumpy pup.
"Steady now. We only have to go as far as the inn."
The more he told her to be steady or asked if she were all right, the more wobbly the ground beneath her seemed.
She let herself be taken by the hand like a child, and they went out into the twilight town.
| And amid this cacophony, it was the sound of her companion's heartbeat that was of special note.
Or perhaps that was her own heart, she mused.
The ambiguity was strangely comfortable. Her gait was light, and all she thought of was her companion's hand as he led her along.
If only this moment could last forever.
She shook the thought away—absurd! And then at that very moment—
"What do you mean you can't buy these pelts?!" someone shouted, bringing her back to herself in a flash.
"I mean we can't buy them. We've gotten word from the guild that someone's been going around using furs as part of some strange scheme. We can't buy any more until we hear more."
"What nonsense is that?!"
In a town as noisy as this one, no one had time to stop and take notice of a single shout. But her companion, who had just made such a fine profit on furs, certainly did.
"That was close," said her companion, looking at her and grinning.
She could not help thinking that this was what happened as soon as things went well, but still she smiled at him, sharing the perverse pleasure of keeping his secret.
But it seemed the merchants, who were now facing a crisis, would not endure this treatment. "Call out the guild chief!" one finally shouted, pounding on the counter.
At this, people finally started to stop walking and peer in the direction of the commotion. Another merchant with a great pile of pelts on his back began to rage, but it seemed like an act. It was probably a ploy to raise enough of a fuss to force the purchase of his furs. Her companion had done the same thing himself not infrequently—merchants could be surprisingly adaptable.
She watched, quite impressed with the display.
"Let's go." Having gotten away with his scheme, her companion pulled on her hand. His face was tense; even as he made off with his gains, he could not bear to watch as others faced loss.
He was a fool, but a kind fool at least. She started to walk as the thought occurred to her, pulled along by her companion. Then—
"Look! They carry the seal of Dene Allbrook. What nonsense is this, that you can't buy them?" said the merchant, taking a bundle of pelts out of his pile and brandishing it over his head. The merchant having such demands made of him looked troubled. No doubt the seal in question was proof of something.
As she had come to understand while watching her companion work, humans often used a thing called "trust." It was very common for them to buy and receive items from people they had never met, so such a thing was crucial. If that merchant had something that ought to have earned him trust and yet he was still being turned down, no wonder he was angry.
Things seemed to be getting rowdy, she thought, and tried to see, but her companion hastily pulled her by her hand and stopped her, then froze in his tracks—but not out of sympathy for the merchant.
The bundle of furs the man was holding up—there was something familiar affixed to the leather strap that held them together. It stood out amid the red-brown furs, a spot of dark silver.
Her companion pulled on her hand even more firmly, but she resisted, looking back over her shoulder, then down at her own tail underneath her robe. Then she looked back up again at the enraged merchant and finally realized that the metal piece on his bundle and the one she'd put on her tail were one and the same.
Worse, the pelts bundled and marked thus were fox furs of no great quality, the hair scruffy and dry.
She could feel very distinctly the sweat that began to break out on her companion's palm. In no time at all, the truth of their conversation on the wagon became very clear to her.
Her companion had not been disturbed by how well the tail adornment she had found had suited her. It was because putting it on her tail marked her own fur as a fox pelt ready for sale.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | And amid this cacophony, it was the sound of her companion's heartbeat that was of special note.
Or perhaps that was her own heart, she mused.
The ambiguity was strangely comfortable. Her gait was light, and all she thought of was her companion's hand as he led her along.
If only this moment could last forever.
She shook the thought away—absurd! And then at that very moment—
"What do you mean you can't buy these pelts?!" someone shouted, bringing her back to herself in a flash.
"I mean we can't buy them. We've gotten word from the guild that someone's been going around using furs as part of some strange scheme. We can't buy any more until we hear more."
"What nonsense is that?!"
In a town as noisy as this one, no one had time to stop and take notice of a single shout. But her companion, who had just made such a fine profit on furs, certainly did.
"That was close," said her companion, looking at her and grinning.
She could not help thinking that this was what happened as soon as things went well, but still she smiled at him, sharing the perverse pleasure of keeping his secret.
But it seemed the merchants, who were now facing a crisis, would not endure this treatment. "Call out the guild chief!" one finally shouted, pounding on the counter.
At this, people finally started to stop walking and peer in the direction of the commotion. Another merchant with a great pile of pelts on his back began to rage, but it seemed like an act. It was probably a ploy to raise enough of a fuss to force the purchase of his furs. Her companion had done the same thing himself not infrequently—merchants could be surprisingly adaptable.
She watched, quite impressed with the display.
"Let's go." Having gotten away with his scheme, her companion pulled on her hand. His face was tense; even as he made off with his gains, he could not bear to watch as others faced loss.
He was a fool, but a kind fool at least. She started to walk as the thought occurred to her, pulled along by her companion. Then—
"Look! They carry the seal of Dene Allbrook. What nonsense is this, that you can't buy them?" said the merchant, taking a bundle of pelts out of his pile and brandishing it over his head. The merchant having such demands made of him looked troubled. No doubt the seal in question was proof of something.
As she had come to understand while watching her companion work, humans often used a thing called "trust." It was very common for them to buy and receive items from people they had never met, so such a thing was crucial. If that merchant had something that ought to have earned him trust and yet he was still being turned down, no wonder he was angry.
Things seemed to be getting rowdy, she thought, and tried to see, but her companion hastily pulled her by her hand and stopped her, then froze in his tracks—but not out of sympathy for the merchant.
The bundle of furs the man was holding up—there was something familiar affixed to the leather strap that held them together. It stood out amid the red-brown furs, a spot of dark silver.
Her companion pulled on her hand even more firmly, but she resisted, looking back over her shoulder, then down at her own tail underneath her robe. Then she looked back up again at the enraged merchant and finally realized that the metal piece on his bundle and the one she'd put on her tail were one and the same.
Worse, the pelts bundled and marked thus were fox furs of no great quality, the hair scruffy and dry.
She could feel very distinctly the sweat that began to break out on her companion's palm. In no time at all, the truth of their conversation on the wagon became very clear to her.
Her companion had not been disturbed by how well the tail adornment she had found had suited her. It was because putting it on her tail marked her own fur as a fox pelt ready for sale.
| But that was not the only thing that angered her.
There was also her companion's attitude then, and now, before her very eyes.
He had obviously been trying to keep her from this, even as she had foolishly put a price tag on her own tail and been so delighted by it. Even now, he was still trying to protect her as he pulled on her hand. No doubt that was why he had not brought her along on his town errands and also why he had been so disturbed when he had looked at her from the driver's seat of the wagon. He had probably been thinking the best way to avoid a shipwreck was not to rock the boat. And now that everything had been revealed, he simply stood there mutely. It was very clear.
She knew perfectly well that he had not been silently laughing at her and that none of this had been done out of malice.
And yet—and still, that a wisewolf should act such a fool!
She did not know how many times she had found human cheeks to be troublesome things, but just this once she was grateful for them, for they hid her raging fangs. Or if not for that, for the convenience of being able to fake many other expressions.
"Um, look—"
But just as her companion wrung some tortured words from what little wisdom he possessed, she let go of his sweaty palm and clung tightly to his arm. Just as she had seen town girls do, she nuzzled her face against it, pressing her whole body against his.
She could feel him freeze. He was surely remembering the times he had been attacked by wild dogs in the wilderness.
But she was not a wild dog. She was Holo the Wisewolf.
She looked up at him. "So, then, how fine is the traveling merchant I've wrapped about my arm?" she said, a great smile on her face.
"Wait, you—"
"You earned a tidy sum, didn't you? I cannot wait to see what wine you will treat me to in celebration!"
If pressed on who was more at fault, it was probably she who bore the greater portion. But there were some things she could not pass up.
Her companion seemed to find this more than a little unreasonable, but after gazing at her with a pained expression, he finally nodded.
Some things could not be passed up. For example, the chance to hold hostage to her own selfishness a merchant so clever he had outsmarted this whole bustling town.
It was absurd, she thought. And yet she could not stop.
And anyway, as he heaved a sigh and began to trudge along, her companion's profile did not look entirely displeased.
She clung to his arm, as though to show the whole world that this wisewolf was the only one who understood his true worth.
She knew it was foolish, but it felt only appropriate for someone like her, who would happily fix a price tag to her own tail. Yes—it was only appropriate.
End.
***
Just one hill away from the town, an unfamiliar landscape spread out before her.
Unlike the hills and fields she knew so well that she could walk them with her eyes closed, this land led to another country.
Looking up, she saw birds flying high overhead, and far behind her, she could see sheep and a shepherd.
Though she had little fondness for it, now that she was finally leaving the place, a faint loneliness welled up within her.
The wind blew softly, as though sighing its exasperation at her. She sighed herself and took a deep breath. Embarking on such a journey always inspired such misgivings.
She shifted the pack on her shoulders and faced forward. The road stretched straight out ahead, and there was no need for hesitation. After all, she was not alone.
Her faithful, black-furred knight looked up at her with his clear eyes. Her courageous, faithful companion was occasionally quite strict as befitted a proper knight. He gazed at her, seemingly able to see right through her to the worry she felt.
Instead of telling him she was all right, she simply smiled at him, which her knight stood at—as though to say, "Now all we have to do is get moving."
Having taken the first step, the second came much more easily. The third and fourth were beneath notice.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | But that was not the only thing that angered her.
There was also her companion's attitude then, and now, before her very eyes.
He had obviously been trying to keep her from this, even as she had foolishly put a price tag on her own tail and been so delighted by it. Even now, he was still trying to protect her as he pulled on her hand. No doubt that was why he had not brought her along on his town errands and also why he had been so disturbed when he had looked at her from the driver's seat of the wagon. He had probably been thinking the best way to avoid a shipwreck was not to rock the boat. And now that everything had been revealed, he simply stood there mutely. It was very clear.
She knew perfectly well that he had not been silently laughing at her and that none of this had been done out of malice.
And yet—and still, that a wisewolf should act such a fool!
She did not know how many times she had found human cheeks to be troublesome things, but just this once she was grateful for them, for they hid her raging fangs. Or if not for that, for the convenience of being able to fake many other expressions.
"Um, look—"
But just as her companion wrung some tortured words from what little wisdom he possessed, she let go of his sweaty palm and clung tightly to his arm. Just as she had seen town girls do, she nuzzled her face against it, pressing her whole body against his.
She could feel him freeze. He was surely remembering the times he had been attacked by wild dogs in the wilderness.
But she was not a wild dog. She was Holo the Wisewolf.
She looked up at him. "So, then, how fine is the traveling merchant I've wrapped about my arm?" she said, a great smile on her face.
"Wait, you—"
"You earned a tidy sum, didn't you? I cannot wait to see what wine you will treat me to in celebration!"
If pressed on who was more at fault, it was probably she who bore the greater portion. But there were some things she could not pass up.
Her companion seemed to find this more than a little unreasonable, but after gazing at her with a pained expression, he finally nodded.
Some things could not be passed up. For example, the chance to hold hostage to her own selfishness a merchant so clever he had outsmarted this whole bustling town.
It was absurd, she thought. And yet she could not stop.
And anyway, as he heaved a sigh and began to trudge along, her companion's profile did not look entirely displeased.
She clung to his arm, as though to show the whole world that this wisewolf was the only one who understood his true worth.
She knew it was foolish, but it felt only appropriate for someone like her, who would happily fix a price tag to her own tail. Yes—it was only appropriate.
End.
***
Just one hill away from the town, an unfamiliar landscape spread out before her.
Unlike the hills and fields she knew so well that she could walk them with her eyes closed, this land led to another country.
Looking up, she saw birds flying high overhead, and far behind her, she could see sheep and a shepherd.
Though she had little fondness for it, now that she was finally leaving the place, a faint loneliness welled up within her.
The wind blew softly, as though sighing its exasperation at her. She sighed herself and took a deep breath. Embarking on such a journey always inspired such misgivings.
She shifted the pack on her shoulders and faced forward. The road stretched straight out ahead, and there was no need for hesitation. After all, she was not alone.
Her faithful, black-furred knight looked up at her with his clear eyes. Her courageous, faithful companion was occasionally quite strict as befitted a proper knight. He gazed at her, seemingly able to see right through her to the worry she felt.
Instead of telling him she was all right, she simply smiled at him, which her knight stood at—as though to say, "Now all we have to do is get moving."
Having taken the first step, the second came much more easily. The third and fourth were beneath notice.
| Their journey to seek a new world and a new life had begun.
***
The world turns on happenstance. I doubt many would raise any complaint with such a statement. I myself owe my continued existence entirely to lucky fate.
I know not exactly how many days or months have passed since I was given life. I can say only that it has not been a short amount of time.
More than once I have felt myself on the brink of surrender, wondering whether this was the end of my life, only to be saved by a coincidence I would've had no right to expect.
There is another thing I must say—and that is in the whole of my life, I have served only two masters.
My first master was a taciturn man, calm as a mountain, the very image of the concept of "master." He trained me very strictly from the day my eyes came open, and it was he who gave me many skills I'll doubtless rely upon until the day I die. While ours was a simple and quiet life, when I think upon those happy memories now, my chest tightens. I was fulfilled, wanted for nothing, and I quite naively believed those days could last forever.
But owing to something I can only conceive of as simple fate, it all vanished like a popping bubble on the water.
Go out into the wilderness, and you will find not only bears and wolves, but also men armed with iron weapons deadlier than any tooth or claw. Though my master and I had been very careful, sudden wind and rain had driven us to make camp where we shouldn't have.
Yet make camp we did. There was nothing inevitable about those men finding us there, and for both our camping and their attack, I find myself unable to give any explanation other than sheer coincidence. I could only think that our encounter with them that night was a testament to the mysterious power of happenstance.
In any case, I fought my hardest. I fought with all my might to the brink of death.
I know for certain that I unhesitatingly felt that the word warrior was made for me, and perhaps it would be most accurate to say that a crack appeared in my pride that day.
We faced an overwhelming disadvantage; my master fell, and I was wounded.
I can still remember all too clearly my master's face in the driving storm, smeared with blood, muck, and rain, as he offered to me the staff that had been my very life.
A servant must protect his master's honor as much as his life.
I took my master's staff, and I ran. Desperately I ran.
In that moment, the wind, rain, and gloom of the night became my allies. I ran mindlessly, and when I came to myself, dawn was breaking.
Heedless of my own wounds, I had exhausted myself beyond the ability to take another step and fell against a large boulder, curling up right there.
The night's wind and rain vanished like they had never been there, and I will never forget the warmth that came with the sun as it rose over the horizon. Though it pains me to say so, with that warmth came the thought that here was the place where I would die.
Had I protected my master's honor, or had I failed?
Before the staff that lay in front of me, the staff that had surely been a keepsake of his, I asked this of myself.
I decided that when I reached heaven, I would ask my master. That was my sole comfort as I closed my eyes, certain that I would never again open them.
Thus it was that when someone began to move me and I opened my eyes to see, I was sure that whatever I saw there would be heaven itself.
But what greeted me was not a sight that befit heaven, I was certain.
It was a girl, her face dirty, her body clothed in rags—an old tree by the side of the road would've been more elegant than she. She was shaking me with her chapped hands—not to warm them up, but to wake me.
Sometimes when my master would get far enough into his cups to loosen his tongue, he would call me a knight. And though he only occasionally told me the tales of true knights, I nonetheless felt that the true spirit of a knight entered my heart.
And thus was I helplessly party to a miracle.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Their journey to seek a new world and a new life had begun.
***
The world turns on happenstance. I doubt many would raise any complaint with such a statement. I myself owe my continued existence entirely to lucky fate.
I know not exactly how many days or months have passed since I was given life. I can say only that it has not been a short amount of time.
More than once I have felt myself on the brink of surrender, wondering whether this was the end of my life, only to be saved by a coincidence I would've had no right to expect.
There is another thing I must say—and that is in the whole of my life, I have served only two masters.
My first master was a taciturn man, calm as a mountain, the very image of the concept of "master." He trained me very strictly from the day my eyes came open, and it was he who gave me many skills I'll doubtless rely upon until the day I die. While ours was a simple and quiet life, when I think upon those happy memories now, my chest tightens. I was fulfilled, wanted for nothing, and I quite naively believed those days could last forever.
But owing to something I can only conceive of as simple fate, it all vanished like a popping bubble on the water.
Go out into the wilderness, and you will find not only bears and wolves, but also men armed with iron weapons deadlier than any tooth or claw. Though my master and I had been very careful, sudden wind and rain had driven us to make camp where we shouldn't have.
Yet make camp we did. There was nothing inevitable about those men finding us there, and for both our camping and their attack, I find myself unable to give any explanation other than sheer coincidence. I could only think that our encounter with them that night was a testament to the mysterious power of happenstance.
In any case, I fought my hardest. I fought with all my might to the brink of death.
I know for certain that I unhesitatingly felt that the word warrior was made for me, and perhaps it would be most accurate to say that a crack appeared in my pride that day.
We faced an overwhelming disadvantage; my master fell, and I was wounded.
I can still remember all too clearly my master's face in the driving storm, smeared with blood, muck, and rain, as he offered to me the staff that had been my very life.
A servant must protect his master's honor as much as his life.
I took my master's staff, and I ran. Desperately I ran.
In that moment, the wind, rain, and gloom of the night became my allies. I ran mindlessly, and when I came to myself, dawn was breaking.
Heedless of my own wounds, I had exhausted myself beyond the ability to take another step and fell against a large boulder, curling up right there.
The night's wind and rain vanished like they had never been there, and I will never forget the warmth that came with the sun as it rose over the horizon. Though it pains me to say so, with that warmth came the thought that here was the place where I would die.
Had I protected my master's honor, or had I failed?
Before the staff that lay in front of me, the staff that had surely been a keepsake of his, I asked this of myself.
I decided that when I reached heaven, I would ask my master. That was my sole comfort as I closed my eyes, certain that I would never again open them.
Thus it was that when someone began to move me and I opened my eyes to see, I was sure that whatever I saw there would be heaven itself.
But what greeted me was not a sight that befit heaven, I was certain.
It was a girl, her face dirty, her body clothed in rags—an old tree by the side of the road would've been more elegant than she. She was shaking me with her chapped hands—not to warm them up, but to wake me.
Sometimes when my master would get far enough into his cups to loosen his tongue, he would call me a knight. And though he only occasionally told me the tales of true knights, I nonetheless felt that the true spirit of a knight entered my heart.
And thus was I helplessly party to a miracle.
| I swallowed back my wounds, my exhaustion, and I stood.
I will never forget the pride I felt in that moment.
Despite being on the verge of death herself, she was possessed of such a kind heart that when she saw me stand, she smiled a smile of relief. Beset by cold and hunger, she could still care for another and could still smile. And in that moment, I knew that I had found my new master.
Though both she and I then collapsed on that spot, we did not leave each other's side. It must have been fate. After sleeping for a time, it was hunger that awoke us, and our eyes opened in the same moment.
Yes, it was most certainly a fated encounter.
I had gained a new master—a new master that despite being a bit unsteady was possessed of incomparable benevolence, and one whose worthiness of my utmost service was beyond question. Her name was Norah, and she was a girl young enough to still retain a certain childish innocence.
My humble, unworthy self's name is Enek. Thanks to my name being carved on the staff I presented to my new master, I was able to avoid the misfortune of changing my name. It seems that great turns of fate summon smaller ones.
Though we cannot speak to each other, our bond is all the stronger for that. I wonder if my human master would be angry at me, a mere dog, for thinking so. While she may be an excellent person in spite of herself, she would face no small danger without me at her side, so I shall forgive her that much.
If you would know why, you have but to look.
Without me at her side, peaceful sleep is difficult for her. While she may be a weak master, ours is a beautiful relationship, one in which each supports the other. Having determined as much, I sleep under the same blanket as my master. It's warmer for both of us that way.
The season is winter.
Surely none can question such a decision.
Morning comes early in winter. Not because the sun rises earlier, of course, but rather because the cold makes it impossible to remain asleep.
We both awoke before dawn, looked up at the dark sky, and yawned great yawns. My master was the only one to subsequently sneeze, while I regarded her clumsiness with a certain forbearance.
"My nose was just itchy...," she gave as her excuse upon noticing my gaze. "Still."
Though she had held me close underneath the blanket, stubbornly unwilling to face the winter chill, my master had summoned her spirits and thrown it off. She continued speaking as she looked up at the few stars that still shone in the sky.
"I'm still not used to not hearing the sheep bleating when I wake up."
Indeed. I myself felt quite the same way.
"The shepherd's life was hard, but...now that I don't have to do it anymore, I do feel a bit lonely."
The shepherd's life, with its constant tending of helpless sheep, leading them to pastures where they can eat their fill of grass, was an exhausting one. Left alone, the sheep would wander, and no matter how they were scolded, they never remembered the way. All the powerless things did was baa and baa, totally oblivious to the relationship between master and servant—how could the work of herding them be anything but arduous?
While my master and I made our living doing such work, nothing lasts forever, and eventually we quit those labors, which we'd toiled at for so long. For my part, it was good to no longer begin every day with seeing my master's worried profile as she surveyed the flock to make sure none had gone missing during the night.
And yet, the loss of the carefree calls of the sheep did not sit well.
It had been two weeks since my master and I began our travels—well past time for us to be over our lingering attachments. But no matter how firmly I might have believed that, as I looked up at my master's distracted face, I found myself unable to resist putting my nose to her cheek and nuzzling her.
I did not want to see her looking so delicate.
"Mm...sorry. I'm fine." My master held my face in both hands and smiled.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | I swallowed back my wounds, my exhaustion, and I stood.
I will never forget the pride I felt in that moment.
Despite being on the verge of death herself, she was possessed of such a kind heart that when she saw me stand, she smiled a smile of relief. Beset by cold and hunger, she could still care for another and could still smile. And in that moment, I knew that I had found my new master.
Though both she and I then collapsed on that spot, we did not leave each other's side. It must have been fate. After sleeping for a time, it was hunger that awoke us, and our eyes opened in the same moment.
Yes, it was most certainly a fated encounter.
I had gained a new master—a new master that despite being a bit unsteady was possessed of incomparable benevolence, and one whose worthiness of my utmost service was beyond question. Her name was Norah, and she was a girl young enough to still retain a certain childish innocence.
My humble, unworthy self's name is Enek. Thanks to my name being carved on the staff I presented to my new master, I was able to avoid the misfortune of changing my name. It seems that great turns of fate summon smaller ones.
Though we cannot speak to each other, our bond is all the stronger for that. I wonder if my human master would be angry at me, a mere dog, for thinking so. While she may be an excellent person in spite of herself, she would face no small danger without me at her side, so I shall forgive her that much.
If you would know why, you have but to look.
Without me at her side, peaceful sleep is difficult for her. While she may be a weak master, ours is a beautiful relationship, one in which each supports the other. Having determined as much, I sleep under the same blanket as my master. It's warmer for both of us that way.
The season is winter.
Surely none can question such a decision.
Morning comes early in winter. Not because the sun rises earlier, of course, but rather because the cold makes it impossible to remain asleep.
We both awoke before dawn, looked up at the dark sky, and yawned great yawns. My master was the only one to subsequently sneeze, while I regarded her clumsiness with a certain forbearance.
"My nose was just itchy...," she gave as her excuse upon noticing my gaze. "Still."
Though she had held me close underneath the blanket, stubbornly unwilling to face the winter chill, my master had summoned her spirits and thrown it off. She continued speaking as she looked up at the few stars that still shone in the sky.
"I'm still not used to not hearing the sheep bleating when I wake up."
Indeed. I myself felt quite the same way.
"The shepherd's life was hard, but...now that I don't have to do it anymore, I do feel a bit lonely."
The shepherd's life, with its constant tending of helpless sheep, leading them to pastures where they can eat their fill of grass, was an exhausting one. Left alone, the sheep would wander, and no matter how they were scolded, they never remembered the way. All the powerless things did was baa and baa, totally oblivious to the relationship between master and servant—how could the work of herding them be anything but arduous?
While my master and I made our living doing such work, nothing lasts forever, and eventually we quit those labors, which we'd toiled at for so long. For my part, it was good to no longer begin every day with seeing my master's worried profile as she surveyed the flock to make sure none had gone missing during the night.
And yet, the loss of the carefree calls of the sheep did not sit well.
It had been two weeks since my master and I began our travels—well past time for us to be over our lingering attachments. But no matter how firmly I might have believed that, as I looked up at my master's distracted face, I found myself unable to resist putting my nose to her cheek and nuzzling her.
I did not want to see her looking so delicate.
"Mm...sorry. I'm fine." My master held my face in both hands and smiled.
| I gave a bark, and my breath was white.
My master smiled self-consciously and regained her natural strength of spirit. "Well, shall we break our fast, then? Just a bit—I splurged a bit in the last town," she said, and I couldn't help but wince a little at the childish way she rummaged around in a burlap sack to produce some bread.
Just because we had a bit of room in our travel budget was no cause for needless luxury, I thought, looking steadily at my master. Noticing my gaze, she giggled for some reason. "Come, Enek. Don't be naughty."
She misunderstood me. My tail was not wagging because of the contents of the sack or any such frivolous reason, but rather because of my pleasure at her seemingly regaining her strength...
"But look how white the bread is!" My master split the loaf in two and showed me the interior.
And then the scent of the earth-nurtured wheat reached my nose.
I wish to hold my canine nature up as a point of pride, and as such I did not try to fight my instincts.
Around the time we were finishing our short meal, the sky began to pale.
The stars, shining coldly in the sky like tiny fragments of ice, began to melt away, and with each step we took, we could see farther and farther.
That said, it was not as though it was much warmer, and our breath lingered behind us in a long ribbon, the land as cold as always.
"It's easier not having the sheep around, but it would be nice to stay somewhere with a roof soon." My master walked along with a strength you'd never imagine she possessed just by looking at her, planting her now bell-less staff in the ground as she went. "But I think we'll be there today or maybe tomorrow," she said, opening up a map drawn on a sheepskin parchment.
While they were the tools of her job, my master would cry when her sheep were injured, scold them when they did something dangerous, and feel lonely when she was away from them. In a way, she was like their mother. Given that, I would've thought that she would avoid using a sheepskin map, but strangely, that seemed not to be the case.
There were still a few things I didn't understand about humans.
"Anyway, what do you think about the town rumors, Enek?" my master asked as she gazed at the map. She didn't look up, perhaps from a faint sense of unease.
I served my master, and it was my fate to walk whichever path she chose. If that path involved a certain amount of danger, then it fell to me to hearten her.
Having determined that, I moved my gaze from my master to the path ahead, to indicate that if she'd made her decision, there was nothing to do but proceed.
"You're right. After all, they say employers pay only for danger or toil."
I gave a bark in response.
My master had made a name for herself as a shepherdess, but circumstances had forced her to retire. Fortunately, she had been left with plenty of money—enough for her to make her own dream a reality. She had many times told me of her desire to become a seamstress. I certainly didn't mind her sharing her dreams with me, although I did not much like the way she spoke of them as things that could never happen.
Given that, while I would do my utmost to help her achieve her dream now that it seemed possible, I could not do so as happily as I might have—because, as she'd said, to make one's dream come true, one had to be prepared for a certain amount of danger.
"They say half the people in town have died from illness."
If she's afraid, then we ought to turn back, was my foolish thought.
But my master had a reason for wanting to risk such danger. During our travels, she'd heard tell of a village stricken with sickness. The population had declined, and with it the available workers, so for the town to recover there was a need for labor.
If true, then it would be easy for someone like my master, who had neither connections nor experience, to find work.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | I gave a bark, and my breath was white.
My master smiled self-consciously and regained her natural strength of spirit. "Well, shall we break our fast, then? Just a bit—I splurged a bit in the last town," she said, and I couldn't help but wince a little at the childish way she rummaged around in a burlap sack to produce some bread.
Just because we had a bit of room in our travel budget was no cause for needless luxury, I thought, looking steadily at my master. Noticing my gaze, she giggled for some reason. "Come, Enek. Don't be naughty."
She misunderstood me. My tail was not wagging because of the contents of the sack or any such frivolous reason, but rather because of my pleasure at her seemingly regaining her strength...
"But look how white the bread is!" My master split the loaf in two and showed me the interior.
And then the scent of the earth-nurtured wheat reached my nose.
I wish to hold my canine nature up as a point of pride, and as such I did not try to fight my instincts.
Around the time we were finishing our short meal, the sky began to pale.
The stars, shining coldly in the sky like tiny fragments of ice, began to melt away, and with each step we took, we could see farther and farther.
That said, it was not as though it was much warmer, and our breath lingered behind us in a long ribbon, the land as cold as always.
"It's easier not having the sheep around, but it would be nice to stay somewhere with a roof soon." My master walked along with a strength you'd never imagine she possessed just by looking at her, planting her now bell-less staff in the ground as she went. "But I think we'll be there today or maybe tomorrow," she said, opening up a map drawn on a sheepskin parchment.
While they were the tools of her job, my master would cry when her sheep were injured, scold them when they did something dangerous, and feel lonely when she was away from them. In a way, she was like their mother. Given that, I would've thought that she would avoid using a sheepskin map, but strangely, that seemed not to be the case.
There were still a few things I didn't understand about humans.
"Anyway, what do you think about the town rumors, Enek?" my master asked as she gazed at the map. She didn't look up, perhaps from a faint sense of unease.
I served my master, and it was my fate to walk whichever path she chose. If that path involved a certain amount of danger, then it fell to me to hearten her.
Having determined that, I moved my gaze from my master to the path ahead, to indicate that if she'd made her decision, there was nothing to do but proceed.
"You're right. After all, they say employers pay only for danger or toil."
I gave a bark in response.
My master had made a name for herself as a shepherdess, but circumstances had forced her to retire. Fortunately, she had been left with plenty of money—enough for her to make her own dream a reality. She had many times told me of her desire to become a seamstress. I certainly didn't mind her sharing her dreams with me, although I did not much like the way she spoke of them as things that could never happen.
Given that, while I would do my utmost to help her achieve her dream now that it seemed possible, I could not do so as happily as I might have—because, as she'd said, to make one's dream come true, one had to be prepared for a certain amount of danger.
"They say half the people in town have died from illness."
If she's afraid, then we ought to turn back, was my foolish thought.
But my master had a reason for wanting to risk such danger. During our travels, she'd heard tell of a village stricken with sickness. The population had declined, and with it the available workers, so for the town to recover there was a need for labor.
If true, then it would be easy for someone like my master, who had neither connections nor experience, to find work.
| It was a brave merchant who'd told my master of this, one who, even amid all the talk of people taking pains to avoid the town, had gone there to do business. According to him, he'd even go to the depths of hell, so long as there was someone there to trade with. Admirable of him.
According to him, the sickness that plagued the town of Kuskov was beginning to lift, and soon there would be little to worry about—and moreover, that it was only a matter of time before word of this began to spread throughout the region.
Time was of the essence, my master said, and no sooner had she heard the merchant's tale than we set out. Earlier that very same day, my master had had her wish to become a seamstress flatly turned down, so that was probably another reason for her haste.
"Still, for half the town to have died, I wonder if the Church's prayers had no effect...," said my master vaguely as she folded up the map.
While she was employed as a shepherdess, my master was treated unbelievably poorly by the Church. Perhaps envious of her skill, they branded her a witch. In the face of such treatment, she maintained a pleasant heart, but it's also true that it was a terrible burden on her. And it was perhaps a source of pride for me to serve under one who could endure such treatment without merrily taking her revenge.
Still, I can't help but feel some irritation at my master's excessive honesty, which made her reluctant to take even the mildest revenge, and because of which she even now continues to acknowledge the Church's authority.
So I simply looked ahead without replying.
Regardless of whether or not she knew what I was thinking, my master is not the most eloquent of humans at the best of times, so we continued down the road for a while in silence after that. The sun climbed higher in the sky, and as we warmed up, our pace quickened until we were traveling rather more quickly than the average traveler. Progress was good, and according to the map my master was consulting, we were approaching the town.
Being an animal, more or less, I could sleep outside for as many days in a row as necessary, but my master, being human, was not so equipped. We would evidently be arriving in the evening of the next day, and rest would be the first priority—we could figure out the particulars of the plague later.
My master was no delicate garden flower, but even the heartiest wildflower would wither if exposed to the cold wind for long enough. And she didn't have enough meat on her bones besides.
It seems to me that if humans don't have fur like animals, the least they could do is try to be a little more substantial. As it is, she'd hardly have cause to complain if someone mistook her for an underfed young man.
Just as I was thinking this—
"Enek!"
My tail fur stiffened at the calling of my name, but not because I'd been thinking about my master.
When one enjoys such a close working relationship as my master and I have, many meanings can be conveyed with but a single call of a name, depending on how it's done.
This particular call had a nostalgic echo to it, one that set my blood rushing.
My master raised her staff and pointed ahead.
"—!" I didn't so much as think before I dashed away at such speed that I could barely hear her next call. My destination was the crest of the hill she'd pointed to.
There were some stray, raggedy-looking sheep there, grazing lazily away.
My claws bit into the earth, and the only sound I could hear was the wind rushing in my ears.
The idle sheep finally seemed to take notice of me, and panicked, they tried to run. But I was not one to let these sluggish creatures escape.
I ran and jumped with enough force to scoop divots of grass free, coming around in front of the sheep and barking a great bark.
The sheep, pushed to the limits of confusion, merely stamped their feet, and then they were mine to instruct as I pleased. To inform them of that fact, I lifted my head skyward and loosed a howl.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | It was a brave merchant who'd told my master of this, one who, even amid all the talk of people taking pains to avoid the town, had gone there to do business. According to him, he'd even go to the depths of hell, so long as there was someone there to trade with. Admirable of him.
According to him, the sickness that plagued the town of Kuskov was beginning to lift, and soon there would be little to worry about—and moreover, that it was only a matter of time before word of this began to spread throughout the region.
Time was of the essence, my master said, and no sooner had she heard the merchant's tale than we set out. Earlier that very same day, my master had had her wish to become a seamstress flatly turned down, so that was probably another reason for her haste.
"Still, for half the town to have died, I wonder if the Church's prayers had no effect...," said my master vaguely as she folded up the map.
While she was employed as a shepherdess, my master was treated unbelievably poorly by the Church. Perhaps envious of her skill, they branded her a witch. In the face of such treatment, she maintained a pleasant heart, but it's also true that it was a terrible burden on her. And it was perhaps a source of pride for me to serve under one who could endure such treatment without merrily taking her revenge.
Still, I can't help but feel some irritation at my master's excessive honesty, which made her reluctant to take even the mildest revenge, and because of which she even now continues to acknowledge the Church's authority.
So I simply looked ahead without replying.
Regardless of whether or not she knew what I was thinking, my master is not the most eloquent of humans at the best of times, so we continued down the road for a while in silence after that. The sun climbed higher in the sky, and as we warmed up, our pace quickened until we were traveling rather more quickly than the average traveler. Progress was good, and according to the map my master was consulting, we were approaching the town.
Being an animal, more or less, I could sleep outside for as many days in a row as necessary, but my master, being human, was not so equipped. We would evidently be arriving in the evening of the next day, and rest would be the first priority—we could figure out the particulars of the plague later.
My master was no delicate garden flower, but even the heartiest wildflower would wither if exposed to the cold wind for long enough. And she didn't have enough meat on her bones besides.
It seems to me that if humans don't have fur like animals, the least they could do is try to be a little more substantial. As it is, she'd hardly have cause to complain if someone mistook her for an underfed young man.
Just as I was thinking this—
"Enek!"
My tail fur stiffened at the calling of my name, but not because I'd been thinking about my master.
When one enjoys such a close working relationship as my master and I have, many meanings can be conveyed with but a single call of a name, depending on how it's done.
This particular call had a nostalgic echo to it, one that set my blood rushing.
My master raised her staff and pointed ahead.
"—!" I didn't so much as think before I dashed away at such speed that I could barely hear her next call. My destination was the crest of the hill she'd pointed to.
There were some stray, raggedy-looking sheep there, grazing lazily away.
My claws bit into the earth, and the only sound I could hear was the wind rushing in my ears.
The idle sheep finally seemed to take notice of me, and panicked, they tried to run. But I was not one to let these sluggish creatures escape.
I ran and jumped with enough force to scoop divots of grass free, coming around in front of the sheep and barking a great bark.
The sheep, pushed to the limits of confusion, merely stamped their feet, and then they were mine to instruct as I pleased. To inform them of that fact, I lifted my head skyward and loosed a howl.
| While I felt a bit sorry for the cowed, frightened sheep, they were fortunate that I was not a ravenous wolf. When my master waved her staff, I released them and went to her side.
When she scratched me behind the ears as though to say, Well done, it was all the reward I would ever need.
"Sorry for startling you," said my master to the sheep. Being wild sheep, they had a certain amount of their own pride, which they voiced with high bleats before running off. Stray sheep were not rare near towns. While only God knew how long they might live, that was just as true for me.
I considered this as my master watched the fleeing sheep through narrowed eyes.
She became aware of my gaze and smiled bashfully, her cheeks slightly flushed from her run. "I do feel a bit badly for the sheep, but that was fun."
My master had been rather bad herself.
That evening we made camp moderately removed from the road in the space between two hills. The traveling conditions hadn't been so bad, but we had yet to encounter a single other traveler—perhaps thanks to the rumors of a plague killing half the town's population. Given the circumstances, we probably could have safely made camp at the roadside, but my master is a very careful person.
Nonetheless, she found herself stunned into silence when a sparrow she was feeding scraps of bread to was taken by a hawk that swooped down from the sky and carried it off. It wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened, but my master never learns.
And when she came to her senses, she took her frustration out on me, as she always does.
I may be a knight, but there was little I could do about literally airborne attacks.
But I obediently let my ears and tail droop, and waited for my master's anger to pass.
It was not long after that the sun set and we went to sleep. Without a fire, the only way to keep warm was to huddle together, and while it was less stressful not to have sheep to mind, it was unavoidable that we would drop our guard. I try to be mindful of our surroundings as I go to sleep, but it is hard to escape from that warmth. I no longer hesitated much to tuck my face back under the blanket when my master shifted, such that it was exposed to the cold. This made me little better than a house dog, I thought in my half-asleep state, but my body busied itself nestling back under my master's arm.
It was a difficult impulse to resist.
Faced with choosing between my honor as a knight and the pleasant warmth of my master's embrace, while I'm not certain whether I growled at the choice, I definitely agonized over it.
Which is why I thought, for a moment, that what I sensed might have been my imagination.
But immediately after realizing that it was not my imagination, I raised my head and pricked up my ears. Yet around my neck was not only the blanket but also my master's arms, so squirming out to see was quite difficult.
She was still asleep, and as I struggled to get out, she mumbled something and tightened her grasp, but finally I wriggled free and got my head out from under the blanket.
It was then that I knew for certain—this was the sound of fighting!
"Mm...Enek?"
Since we'd been released from our duties as a shepherd, I hadn't been the only one to fall victim to the charms of uninterrupted sleep, but that was then. She soon saw from my state that what I had sensed was quite out of the ordinary, and her eyes went immediately wide as she scanned the area.
"A wolf?" My master had lived near a wood where wolves frequently appeared. She wasn't afraid, though—her voice carried with it her readiness to face them should they come. "No, not wolves..."
My master lowered her ear to the ground. She was about as good as I was at listening to the sound and discerning numbers and directions.
Soon concluding that there were no wolves, she stood and looked around. All the while my ears took in the sounds of fighting. I stared in the direction the sounds came from, trying to warn my master of what I heard.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | While I felt a bit sorry for the cowed, frightened sheep, they were fortunate that I was not a ravenous wolf. When my master waved her staff, I released them and went to her side.
When she scratched me behind the ears as though to say, Well done, it was all the reward I would ever need.
"Sorry for startling you," said my master to the sheep. Being wild sheep, they had a certain amount of their own pride, which they voiced with high bleats before running off. Stray sheep were not rare near towns. While only God knew how long they might live, that was just as true for me.
I considered this as my master watched the fleeing sheep through narrowed eyes.
She became aware of my gaze and smiled bashfully, her cheeks slightly flushed from her run. "I do feel a bit badly for the sheep, but that was fun."
My master had been rather bad herself.
That evening we made camp moderately removed from the road in the space between two hills. The traveling conditions hadn't been so bad, but we had yet to encounter a single other traveler—perhaps thanks to the rumors of a plague killing half the town's population. Given the circumstances, we probably could have safely made camp at the roadside, but my master is a very careful person.
Nonetheless, she found herself stunned into silence when a sparrow she was feeding scraps of bread to was taken by a hawk that swooped down from the sky and carried it off. It wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened, but my master never learns.
And when she came to her senses, she took her frustration out on me, as she always does.
I may be a knight, but there was little I could do about literally airborne attacks.
But I obediently let my ears and tail droop, and waited for my master's anger to pass.
It was not long after that the sun set and we went to sleep. Without a fire, the only way to keep warm was to huddle together, and while it was less stressful not to have sheep to mind, it was unavoidable that we would drop our guard. I try to be mindful of our surroundings as I go to sleep, but it is hard to escape from that warmth. I no longer hesitated much to tuck my face back under the blanket when my master shifted, such that it was exposed to the cold. This made me little better than a house dog, I thought in my half-asleep state, but my body busied itself nestling back under my master's arm.
It was a difficult impulse to resist.
Faced with choosing between my honor as a knight and the pleasant warmth of my master's embrace, while I'm not certain whether I growled at the choice, I definitely agonized over it.
Which is why I thought, for a moment, that what I sensed might have been my imagination.
But immediately after realizing that it was not my imagination, I raised my head and pricked up my ears. Yet around my neck was not only the blanket but also my master's arms, so squirming out to see was quite difficult.
She was still asleep, and as I struggled to get out, she mumbled something and tightened her grasp, but finally I wriggled free and got my head out from under the blanket.
It was then that I knew for certain—this was the sound of fighting!
"Mm...Enek?"
Since we'd been released from our duties as a shepherd, I hadn't been the only one to fall victim to the charms of uninterrupted sleep, but that was then. She soon saw from my state that what I had sensed was quite out of the ordinary, and her eyes went immediately wide as she scanned the area.
"A wolf?" My master had lived near a wood where wolves frequently appeared. She wasn't afraid, though—her voice carried with it her readiness to face them should they come. "No, not wolves..."
My master lowered her ear to the ground. She was about as good as I was at listening to the sound and discerning numbers and directions.
Soon concluding that there were no wolves, she stood and looked around. All the while my ears took in the sounds of fighting. I stared in the direction the sounds came from, trying to warn my master of what I heard.
| "Bandits?"
Humans fear their own kind more than any wolf or wild animal—one of the world's great ironies. My master drew closer to me, and listened carefully. She seemed to realize by my lack of growl that the danger was not moving toward us.
My master quickly gathered up our things and slowly stood.
***
She indicated forward with her staff.
I began to walk, then trot toward the sound.
The moon was faintly and occasionally visible through patches in the clouds, and I cannot say that visibility was good. I was well aware that my form was easily concealed in the gloom, but for that reason I looked back several times to make sure my master had not lost sight of me.
Finally, I crested the hill and was able to command a complete view. I turned my gaze to my master; she was lagging behind me, her body low, and her eyes widened in surprise.
Looking down from the top of the hill, it was easy to see what was happening, despite the considerable distance.
Flames rose from an inn nestled up against the road. It didn't take ears as keen as mine to hear the cries coming from it.
The inn was being attacked by bandits.
"Wh-what'll we do?" my master murmured. I could hardly blame her. Given her personality, she was no doubt wondering whether to try to help—but from here, it was impossible to tell how many bandits there were or how they were armed.
My master was a kind person to the end, but that could make things difficult sometimes. I prepared my body at least to defend her life.
A shower of sparks flew up; perhaps the roof of one of the smaller buildings had collapsed.
"Ah—!"
A person came running out of the front door of the main building, which the tongues of flame had yet to reach. I couldn't make out the face owing to the darkness and the smoke, but going by the person's clothes, they seemed to be a traveler on their pilgrimage.
I could also see the person wobble unsteadily, either from terror or injury.
The person staggered toward the road, and then another came after the pilgrim. This one had a sword in hand and was clearly on the side of the attackers.
The difference in speed was like that of an ox and a horse. The pilgrim would be caught very quickly, I was sure.
But then another figure came out of the inn's entrance, jumping at the attacker in the time it took him to turn around.
Next, I heard something very clearly, which meant that it was probably at least faintly audible to my master as well. "Run, please!" was the cry.
"Enek!"
I have no doubt her words were half out of sheer instinct. But I am a proud knight, a servant of my master. At her order and her staff, I charged.
At the end of my vision I saw the attacker throw off his assailant and plunge his sword at the fallen man, then pull it free.
But in his excitement, the attacker's steps were unsteady as though he was drunk. He was no match for me.
The grass deadened the sound of my footfalls, and the sound of the burning stables was my ally as well.
Completely unaware of me, the attacker walked toward the pilgrim, who was still trying to crawl away. The pilgrim seemed to hit upon some idea and began to pray, looking up to the heavens.
From behind him his attacker approached, smiling a cruel smile and raising his sword. But the very instant he prepared to strike his defenseless opponent from behind with that blade, he surely saw a flicker of black streak across the corner of his vision.
Surely he saw.
And in the next moment, my fangs sank into the wrist of his right arm, sending his sword flying away. My jaws can tear through the thickly meated rear leg of a sheep.
I felt his bones crack in my jaw and released my grip.
The man looked as though he'd seen a demon in the night. He fell back, and I ripped mercilessly into his right calf.
"Help! Heeelp!"
Then by the time I realized I'd been careless, it was too late. When I looked up, there was another man with a sword at the entrance to the inn.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Bandits?"
Humans fear their own kind more than any wolf or wild animal—one of the world's great ironies. My master drew closer to me, and listened carefully. She seemed to realize by my lack of growl that the danger was not moving toward us.
My master quickly gathered up our things and slowly stood.
***
She indicated forward with her staff.
I began to walk, then trot toward the sound.
The moon was faintly and occasionally visible through patches in the clouds, and I cannot say that visibility was good. I was well aware that my form was easily concealed in the gloom, but for that reason I looked back several times to make sure my master had not lost sight of me.
Finally, I crested the hill and was able to command a complete view. I turned my gaze to my master; she was lagging behind me, her body low, and her eyes widened in surprise.
Looking down from the top of the hill, it was easy to see what was happening, despite the considerable distance.
Flames rose from an inn nestled up against the road. It didn't take ears as keen as mine to hear the cries coming from it.
The inn was being attacked by bandits.
"Wh-what'll we do?" my master murmured. I could hardly blame her. Given her personality, she was no doubt wondering whether to try to help—but from here, it was impossible to tell how many bandits there were or how they were armed.
My master was a kind person to the end, but that could make things difficult sometimes. I prepared my body at least to defend her life.
A shower of sparks flew up; perhaps the roof of one of the smaller buildings had collapsed.
"Ah—!"
A person came running out of the front door of the main building, which the tongues of flame had yet to reach. I couldn't make out the face owing to the darkness and the smoke, but going by the person's clothes, they seemed to be a traveler on their pilgrimage.
I could also see the person wobble unsteadily, either from terror or injury.
The person staggered toward the road, and then another came after the pilgrim. This one had a sword in hand and was clearly on the side of the attackers.
The difference in speed was like that of an ox and a horse. The pilgrim would be caught very quickly, I was sure.
But then another figure came out of the inn's entrance, jumping at the attacker in the time it took him to turn around.
Next, I heard something very clearly, which meant that it was probably at least faintly audible to my master as well. "Run, please!" was the cry.
"Enek!"
I have no doubt her words were half out of sheer instinct. But I am a proud knight, a servant of my master. At her order and her staff, I charged.
At the end of my vision I saw the attacker throw off his assailant and plunge his sword at the fallen man, then pull it free.
But in his excitement, the attacker's steps were unsteady as though he was drunk. He was no match for me.
The grass deadened the sound of my footfalls, and the sound of the burning stables was my ally as well.
Completely unaware of me, the attacker walked toward the pilgrim, who was still trying to crawl away. The pilgrim seemed to hit upon some idea and began to pray, looking up to the heavens.
From behind him his attacker approached, smiling a cruel smile and raising his sword. But the very instant he prepared to strike his defenseless opponent from behind with that blade, he surely saw a flicker of black streak across the corner of his vision.
Surely he saw.
And in the next moment, my fangs sank into the wrist of his right arm, sending his sword flying away. My jaws can tear through the thickly meated rear leg of a sheep.
I felt his bones crack in my jaw and released my grip.
The man looked as though he'd seen a demon in the night. He fell back, and I ripped mercilessly into his right calf.
"Help! Heeelp!"
Then by the time I realized I'd been careless, it was too late. When I looked up, there was another man with a sword at the entrance to the inn.
| "Hey, what happened?" Fortunately, the man in the doorway didn't seem to realize what was going on. I let go of the one in front of me and leaped over him, bolting straight ahead.
At the end of my sight, I found a face filled with shock and fear.
He dropped a heavy-looking sack, probably filled with loot from the inn, and readied his sword. I bared my fangs at him. Given the darkness, I'm sure I looked like a wolf to him and his comrades. That wasn't my intention, but I was perfectly happy to use it.
He used his sword not as a weapon, but as a shield, thrusting it feebly at me. I leaped at him, and I'd only begun to bite his face when he'd already fainted. The inside of the inn was a terrible mess, and there were three people on the floor who were wearing the same clothes as the pilgrim who'd tried to escape.
Then, I noticed a presence and looked to see another person coming down the stairs. From his dress, I could tell that he was another bandit, who'd come down to see what the commotion was. He noticed me, too, and our eyes met.
But then he saw the blood dripping from my snout, gave a shriek, and fled back up the stairs. However, I have an advantage when attacking from below. Three steps brought me to the base of the stairs, and two more were all it took for me to close the distance and put my jaws around the man's foot. He stumbled at the top of the stairs, kicking wildly and screaming an unearthly howl. I couldn't help but let go of his foot.
That was fortunate, though, because the man then fell right down the stairs. His right leg and left arm were bent in strange directions, but he seemed to be alive.
I looked down at the man from the upper landing and noticed that the inside of the inn had fallen silent. My ears told me that the other building was still burning, and my nose told me that it would not be long before this building burned as well. I was worried that there were more bandits, but I was more concerned with my master's safety than I was in such certainty. I ran down the stairs but stopped at the inn's exit.
Someone was just entering—it was the human who'd first caught sight of me. He was a bearded man, clad in cumbersome-looking long-sleeved robes, and his right side was soaked in blood. He was pale, too, but surely not just because of the wound.
"Ooh...Ugh...What calamity has happened here..."
The man cast his eyes over the terrible state of the inn and fell to his knees. They were wearing the same sort of clothing as he was, so perhaps the three figures on the floor had been his comrades.
I slipped past him, and upon coming outside, I saw my master, clasping her staff uncertainly. The moment she saw me, she came running and embraced me.
"I'm so glad you're safe!"
It would have been strange for her to be so concerned with my safety given that she was the one who'd set me upon the bandits, but it was just my master's personality to be this way. I looked past her and saw that the man who'd been stabbed with a sword already had a cloth covering him.
"Is that all the bandits?" my master asked, releasing me once she'd held me close and reassured herself.
With no way to answer, I merely barked once. But she got her response from the man who'd staggered into the inn moments earlier. "There were three bandits in all..."
"So there's one more?" asked my master, but the man shook his head.
Counting the one who'd fallen down the stairs, that made three. Would that my master could've seen my incredibly display of bravery, I thought, looking up at her.
"Oh God, we thank thee for this small blessing...," the man had the nerve to say.
It was I who brought him such good fortune, I and my master!
If she hadn't stroked my head, I'm quite certain I would've barked my irritation.
The bearded man's name was Giuseppe Ozenstein. He was the bishop of a church three weeks' walk west of here.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Hey, what happened?" Fortunately, the man in the doorway didn't seem to realize what was going on. I let go of the one in front of me and leaped over him, bolting straight ahead.
At the end of my sight, I found a face filled with shock and fear.
He dropped a heavy-looking sack, probably filled with loot from the inn, and readied his sword. I bared my fangs at him. Given the darkness, I'm sure I looked like a wolf to him and his comrades. That wasn't my intention, but I was perfectly happy to use it.
He used his sword not as a weapon, but as a shield, thrusting it feebly at me. I leaped at him, and I'd only begun to bite his face when he'd already fainted. The inside of the inn was a terrible mess, and there were three people on the floor who were wearing the same clothes as the pilgrim who'd tried to escape.
Then, I noticed a presence and looked to see another person coming down the stairs. From his dress, I could tell that he was another bandit, who'd come down to see what the commotion was. He noticed me, too, and our eyes met.
But then he saw the blood dripping from my snout, gave a shriek, and fled back up the stairs. However, I have an advantage when attacking from below. Three steps brought me to the base of the stairs, and two more were all it took for me to close the distance and put my jaws around the man's foot. He stumbled at the top of the stairs, kicking wildly and screaming an unearthly howl. I couldn't help but let go of his foot.
That was fortunate, though, because the man then fell right down the stairs. His right leg and left arm were bent in strange directions, but he seemed to be alive.
I looked down at the man from the upper landing and noticed that the inside of the inn had fallen silent. My ears told me that the other building was still burning, and my nose told me that it would not be long before this building burned as well. I was worried that there were more bandits, but I was more concerned with my master's safety than I was in such certainty. I ran down the stairs but stopped at the inn's exit.
Someone was just entering—it was the human who'd first caught sight of me. He was a bearded man, clad in cumbersome-looking long-sleeved robes, and his right side was soaked in blood. He was pale, too, but surely not just because of the wound.
"Ooh...Ugh...What calamity has happened here..."
The man cast his eyes over the terrible state of the inn and fell to his knees. They were wearing the same sort of clothing as he was, so perhaps the three figures on the floor had been his comrades.
I slipped past him, and upon coming outside, I saw my master, clasping her staff uncertainly. The moment she saw me, she came running and embraced me.
"I'm so glad you're safe!"
It would have been strange for her to be so concerned with my safety given that she was the one who'd set me upon the bandits, but it was just my master's personality to be this way. I looked past her and saw that the man who'd been stabbed with a sword already had a cloth covering him.
"Is that all the bandits?" my master asked, releasing me once she'd held me close and reassured herself.
With no way to answer, I merely barked once. But she got her response from the man who'd staggered into the inn moments earlier. "There were three bandits in all..."
"So there's one more?" asked my master, but the man shook his head.
Counting the one who'd fallen down the stairs, that made three. Would that my master could've seen my incredibly display of bravery, I thought, looking up at her.
"Oh God, we thank thee for this small blessing...," the man had the nerve to say.
It was I who brought him such good fortune, I and my master!
If she hadn't stroked my head, I'm quite certain I would've barked my irritation.
The bearded man's name was Giuseppe Ozenstein. He was the bishop of a church three weeks' walk west of here.
| Master, this is unseemly!
"Look up, please. You are verily an angel sent by God."
If the bearded Giuseppe had treated my master forcefully, I was fully prepared to respond appropriately, but it did not seem that such force would be used. My fangs stayed hidden for the nonce.
Giuseppe seemed several times my master's age and was deeply grateful to her.
"No, not at all...Anyway, it's much more thanks to Enek than me."
"Ah, quite right. So he's called Enek, is he? Truly, I owe you my life."
The wound in his side was surprisingly deep, and though she'd tried to stem the bleeding, it was not surprising that her skill was not up to the task. Giuseppe's face was pale as paper, but his grateful smile to me was so clearly genuine that it felt good to see.
As a knight, it was my duty to accept such gratitude.
"Still, the test God has given me is terribly heavy..."
Save for a single young man, all of Guiseppe's comrades were killed. And even the young man had a bad wound on his head and was unconscious. My master did the best she could to treat him, but only God knew whether he would recover.
"And the other people in the inn, were they...?" My master had bound the bandits I'd defeated and tied them to the fence that encircled the inn.
"No...this place was empty. We had come to borrow a stable and pass the night, but the bandits seemed to be waiting for that. But...oh, how terrible they were, these pagan men!"
"...You mean, their arrowhead amulets?"
"So you noticed, did you? That's right. They're descended from the sorcerers who still practice their dark arts in the eastern mountains. They were waiting for us to sleep. The three men they killed were mercenaries I'd hired as travel guards. They were quick and brave and tried to protect us, but were unequal to the task..."
Then I noticed something.
Two of the men who'd fallen near the building's door, despite being dressed the same way the old man was, smelled distinctly like me—that is to say, men ready to fight.
"But I cannot abandon my journey here. I must...press on," said Giuseppe firmly before a coughing fit stopped him.
I had a bad feeling about this.
I quivered, a quiet whimper in my throat, but my master seemed not to hear it. She made a sympathetic face, then extended her hand to Giuseppe. "What is your destination?" she asked.
Master! Never in all my life had I been so vexed by my inability to use human words. Were we not on our way to the town of Kuskov so that my master could make her dreams come true? And did not misfortune befall travelers constantly, laying them low on the roadside every day? Thus, it was folly to put the goals of others before one's own goals—there would be no end of it!
Though I sat there obediently, I watched Giuseppe and my master alike very closely as such worries chased themselves through my mind.
Giuseppe coughed. "My apologies. My destination was..."
Once she heard it, there would be no way for her to resist helping. I felt as though I had to do something, anything, but I could not shut the man's mouth.
Giuseppe quietly finished his statement. "...Kuskov."
"Huh?"
My ears pricked up, and I looked at my master, who seemed likewise surprised.
"Are you familiar with it? It is a town beset by plague, without God's teachings or guidance; a town suffering in darkness."
"Y-yes. We were on our way there ourselves."
"Oh!" Giuseppe's face showed evidence of deep shock, and then, like all Church men do when praying to their God, he closed his eyes. I wagged my tail in amusement, for what Giuseppe said next was precisely what I had expected. "This must be God's will...though it cannot but pain me to say so. Might I ask you to hear this one request of a servant of God?"
I looked first at Giuseppe's face, then back to my master's. She was looking at him very seriously, as though ready to be given some important mission.
Even if I could have used human words, it would have been impossible to stop her.
"Yes, anything."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | Master, this is unseemly!
"Look up, please. You are verily an angel sent by God."
If the bearded Giuseppe had treated my master forcefully, I was fully prepared to respond appropriately, but it did not seem that such force would be used. My fangs stayed hidden for the nonce.
Giuseppe seemed several times my master's age and was deeply grateful to her.
"No, not at all...Anyway, it's much more thanks to Enek than me."
"Ah, quite right. So he's called Enek, is he? Truly, I owe you my life."
The wound in his side was surprisingly deep, and though she'd tried to stem the bleeding, it was not surprising that her skill was not up to the task. Giuseppe's face was pale as paper, but his grateful smile to me was so clearly genuine that it felt good to see.
As a knight, it was my duty to accept such gratitude.
"Still, the test God has given me is terribly heavy..."
Save for a single young man, all of Guiseppe's comrades were killed. And even the young man had a bad wound on his head and was unconscious. My master did the best she could to treat him, but only God knew whether he would recover.
"And the other people in the inn, were they...?" My master had bound the bandits I'd defeated and tied them to the fence that encircled the inn.
"No...this place was empty. We had come to borrow a stable and pass the night, but the bandits seemed to be waiting for that. But...oh, how terrible they were, these pagan men!"
"...You mean, their arrowhead amulets?"
"So you noticed, did you? That's right. They're descended from the sorcerers who still practice their dark arts in the eastern mountains. They were waiting for us to sleep. The three men they killed were mercenaries I'd hired as travel guards. They were quick and brave and tried to protect us, but were unequal to the task..."
Then I noticed something.
Two of the men who'd fallen near the building's door, despite being dressed the same way the old man was, smelled distinctly like me—that is to say, men ready to fight.
"But I cannot abandon my journey here. I must...press on," said Giuseppe firmly before a coughing fit stopped him.
I had a bad feeling about this.
I quivered, a quiet whimper in my throat, but my master seemed not to hear it. She made a sympathetic face, then extended her hand to Giuseppe. "What is your destination?" she asked.
Master! Never in all my life had I been so vexed by my inability to use human words. Were we not on our way to the town of Kuskov so that my master could make her dreams come true? And did not misfortune befall travelers constantly, laying them low on the roadside every day? Thus, it was folly to put the goals of others before one's own goals—there would be no end of it!
Though I sat there obediently, I watched Giuseppe and my master alike very closely as such worries chased themselves through my mind.
Giuseppe coughed. "My apologies. My destination was..."
Once she heard it, there would be no way for her to resist helping. I felt as though I had to do something, anything, but I could not shut the man's mouth.
Giuseppe quietly finished his statement. "...Kuskov."
"Huh?"
My ears pricked up, and I looked at my master, who seemed likewise surprised.
"Are you familiar with it? It is a town beset by plague, without God's teachings or guidance; a town suffering in darkness."
"Y-yes. We were on our way there ourselves."
"Oh!" Giuseppe's face showed evidence of deep shock, and then, like all Church men do when praying to their God, he closed his eyes. I wagged my tail in amusement, for what Giuseppe said next was precisely what I had expected. "This must be God's will...though it cannot but pain me to say so. Might I ask you to hear this one request of a servant of God?"
I looked first at Giuseppe's face, then back to my master's. She was looking at him very seriously, as though ready to be given some important mission.
Even if I could have used human words, it would have been impossible to stop her.
"Yes, anything."
| My master gave a firm nod and took Giuseppe's hand.
A bit weary of my master's excessive kindness, I sat down, facing the inn as it burned to the ground.
"I see. So you're heading to Kuskov to become a crafter..."
"Yes. I got word about the town from traveling merchants."
"Ah, I see. I should think it would require a great deal of courage to journey all the way to Kuskov...but please excuse my rudeness—you clearly posses a great measure of bravery and righteousness."
Giuseppe was riding his horse. The young man was still unconscious and had been placed on the stout little mule they'd brought with them as a pack animal.
"No, in truth I'm terrified, but...it's a dream I was sure I could never reach, so now that I have this chance..." My master spoke rather bashfully because it was the truth.
"Your dream, eh? It's true one needs hopes and dreams in order to face danger. You have nothing to be ashamed of." Atop his horse, Giuseppe smiled kindly, and my master looked up at him with respect in her eyes.
I was not terribly amused by any of this.
"I, too, am making for Kuskov in service of a dream of sorts. When the plague came, all of God's servants were called to heaven, and none remained to light candles anew. So we decided to come, to serve as lamps for those trembling in the darkness."
"I see..."
"I began this journey ready to face any horror in that town, but I never thought the horrors would begin while my journey was not yet over." He spoke not with sadness but rather exhaustion. A tired smile was on his face, which I found somehow reassuring.
I remembered that when this man had thought his life was at its end, he did not beg or plead for it, nor did he panic. He only looked to the heavens and prayed.
I could not forgive the Church, but I respected anyone so dedicated to their profession. On that count, this Giuseppe could not be such a bad human.
"As you can see, I am nothing more than a humble bishop, and I cannot give you anything of worth in return for your aid. But I would very much like to do what I can."
"Oh no, you needn't—" said my master hastily, but Giuseppe only gave an indulgently stubborn smile.
"I very nearly lost my life at the hands and blades of those men. You saved me, even as I was on my way to bring aid to those waiting in the darkness for God's light. It is a thing heavy with import, and I hope you'll at least allow me to repay the actions of your brave friend."
"You mean...Enek?"
I, too, did not expect this, and I looked up to see an honest smile directed at me from Giuseppe, which took me still further by surprise. Being an animal, the only person I expected such smiles from was my master herself.
"God made this world and all things in it. Humans and all other things are the same in God's eyes. Thus, I feel it only right to give names to the blades of grass, show kindness to horses and birds alike, and to properly honor those who show such noble bravery."
I looked up at my master, and she looked down at me. Then both of us looked to Giuseppe, whereupon the wounded bishop smiled happily and continued on.
"When we arrive in Kuskov, I, Giuseppe Ozenstein, in the name of God, will confer upon the noble Enek the title of Knight of the Church."
I had not the faintest notion of what that meant, but if I was being dubbed a knight, I had no cause to refuse.
I looked at my master, who seemed surprised and at a loss for words.
"And of course, I'd like to show you some appreciation, too," said Giuseppe, as he looked abruptly down the road as though suddenly having realized something.
The moon was just then peeking out from between a gap in the clouds, and at the end of our gazes lay a town—Kuskov, our destination.
It seemed we wouldn't have had to camp, nor would Giuseppe and his fellows have needed to stay in that inn, if we'd but pressed on just a bit farther.
The world is a strangely fated place.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | My master gave a firm nod and took Giuseppe's hand.
A bit weary of my master's excessive kindness, I sat down, facing the inn as it burned to the ground.
"I see. So you're heading to Kuskov to become a crafter..."
"Yes. I got word about the town from traveling merchants."
"Ah, I see. I should think it would require a great deal of courage to journey all the way to Kuskov...but please excuse my rudeness—you clearly posses a great measure of bravery and righteousness."
Giuseppe was riding his horse. The young man was still unconscious and had been placed on the stout little mule they'd brought with them as a pack animal.
"No, in truth I'm terrified, but...it's a dream I was sure I could never reach, so now that I have this chance..." My master spoke rather bashfully because it was the truth.
"Your dream, eh? It's true one needs hopes and dreams in order to face danger. You have nothing to be ashamed of." Atop his horse, Giuseppe smiled kindly, and my master looked up at him with respect in her eyes.
I was not terribly amused by any of this.
"I, too, am making for Kuskov in service of a dream of sorts. When the plague came, all of God's servants were called to heaven, and none remained to light candles anew. So we decided to come, to serve as lamps for those trembling in the darkness."
"I see..."
"I began this journey ready to face any horror in that town, but I never thought the horrors would begin while my journey was not yet over." He spoke not with sadness but rather exhaustion. A tired smile was on his face, which I found somehow reassuring.
I remembered that when this man had thought his life was at its end, he did not beg or plead for it, nor did he panic. He only looked to the heavens and prayed.
I could not forgive the Church, but I respected anyone so dedicated to their profession. On that count, this Giuseppe could not be such a bad human.
"As you can see, I am nothing more than a humble bishop, and I cannot give you anything of worth in return for your aid. But I would very much like to do what I can."
"Oh no, you needn't—" said my master hastily, but Giuseppe only gave an indulgently stubborn smile.
"I very nearly lost my life at the hands and blades of those men. You saved me, even as I was on my way to bring aid to those waiting in the darkness for God's light. It is a thing heavy with import, and I hope you'll at least allow me to repay the actions of your brave friend."
"You mean...Enek?"
I, too, did not expect this, and I looked up to see an honest smile directed at me from Giuseppe, which took me still further by surprise. Being an animal, the only person I expected such smiles from was my master herself.
"God made this world and all things in it. Humans and all other things are the same in God's eyes. Thus, I feel it only right to give names to the blades of grass, show kindness to horses and birds alike, and to properly honor those who show such noble bravery."
I looked up at my master, and she looked down at me. Then both of us looked to Giuseppe, whereupon the wounded bishop smiled happily and continued on.
"When we arrive in Kuskov, I, Giuseppe Ozenstein, in the name of God, will confer upon the noble Enek the title of Knight of the Church."
I had not the faintest notion of what that meant, but if I was being dubbed a knight, I had no cause to refuse.
I looked at my master, who seemed surprised and at a loss for words.
"And of course, I'd like to show you some appreciation, too," said Giuseppe, as he looked abruptly down the road as though suddenly having realized something.
The moon was just then peeking out from between a gap in the clouds, and at the end of our gazes lay a town—Kuskov, our destination.
It seemed we wouldn't have had to camp, nor would Giuseppe and his fellows have needed to stay in that inn, if we'd but pressed on just a bit farther.
The world is a strangely fated place.
| The town of Kuskov was a sufficiently grand place to be surrounded by a stone wall. It was nothing to be compared with Ruvinheigen, of course, but still secure enough for it to be far from certain that they'd open their gates for midnight visitors.
But that was soon revealed for the groundless worry that it was.
When Giuseppe the bishop identified himself at the gates, the watchman's haste was a thing to behold. It was as though he'd glimpsed his own salvation.
He hardly could've hurried more even if the town was being besieged by an enemy's army, and as he made his great fuss, even before the door opened, my master—who wasn't especially assertive at the best of times—quailed before the commotion that seemed to be brewing on the other side of it.
If the town was so desperate for the bishop's visit, then there was no doubt they'd welcome his savior with the same enthusiasm.
My master's face told eloquently of her worries. When there finally sounded a horn blast from inside the town, she seemed unable to endure it any further. She looked up at Giuseppe, who rubbed his face and cleared his throat atop his horse, attempting to hide his own wounded condition.
"E-er, if you please..."
"Yes, my child?"
"Er, that is, I have a favor to ask..."
Giuseppe's face was that of a shepherd leading his flock. "What is that?" he asked. Men of the Church often hid their blackness beneath such expressions, but it seemed to encourage my master, who continued.
"Would you introduce us as merely your followers, please...?"
"That's...," began Giuseppe, blinking in surprise, but then he nodded slowly. He didn't seem to be a fool at least.
As we heard the sound of the bar being lifted hastily on the other side of the door, Giuseppe, still on his horse, leaned toward my master and spoke to her in a loud whisper. "It gives me great pleasure to see you living so faithfully by God's word. Courage and modesty are rarely seen together. I shall honor your request. But neither God nor I shall forget to whom we owe thanks."
Slowly the door opened, and from behind it came torchlight so bright it nearly hurt our eyes. Giuseppe straightened, and my master watched him like a lamb hoping to be saved.
I couldn't help but regard Giuseppe's skill and poise as somewhat suspicious, but when he gave me a glance and a small nod, I couldn't stop my tail from wagging.
Every rule had its exceptions.
"Now then," said Giuseppe, smiling like a child entrusted with a secret as the door came fully open. The hour being what it was, the people lined up beyond the door were dressed in whatever they'd been wearing, many of them seemingly having woken just minutes earlier—some of the girls were still combing their hair.
From out of the gathered crowd, pushing his way out from between two men, came a well-dressed fellow holding a spear. He was probably on lookout duty, though he looked very young for it. From the redness in the corners of his eyes, he'd very clearly been sleeping until moments ago.
But his hair was curly and flyaway, and from the fluttering leather cloak over his shoulders, the pointed toes of his boots, and his confident stride, he had the feeling of a leader about him, too.
To show my respect I sat and put my front paws closely together, my chest thrust out, as I could tell he was doing his utmost to appear worthy of it. There was no questioning his desire to heal the town. But it was an extremely heavy burden.
I couldn't imagine that this youngster had arrived in this position ready to shoulder it. Plague took the elderly first, after all.
"My name is Tory lon Kuskov Careca. I represent the Kuskov Disaster Council. In God's name, we welcome you to our town."
His voice was youthful. Giuseppe knew the town's circumstances as well as we did and was probably thinking the same thing we were. He responded with a greeting more formal than he'd used with us.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The town of Kuskov was a sufficiently grand place to be surrounded by a stone wall. It was nothing to be compared with Ruvinheigen, of course, but still secure enough for it to be far from certain that they'd open their gates for midnight visitors.
But that was soon revealed for the groundless worry that it was.
When Giuseppe the bishop identified himself at the gates, the watchman's haste was a thing to behold. It was as though he'd glimpsed his own salvation.
He hardly could've hurried more even if the town was being besieged by an enemy's army, and as he made his great fuss, even before the door opened, my master—who wasn't especially assertive at the best of times—quailed before the commotion that seemed to be brewing on the other side of it.
If the town was so desperate for the bishop's visit, then there was no doubt they'd welcome his savior with the same enthusiasm.
My master's face told eloquently of her worries. When there finally sounded a horn blast from inside the town, she seemed unable to endure it any further. She looked up at Giuseppe, who rubbed his face and cleared his throat atop his horse, attempting to hide his own wounded condition.
"E-er, if you please..."
"Yes, my child?"
"Er, that is, I have a favor to ask..."
Giuseppe's face was that of a shepherd leading his flock. "What is that?" he asked. Men of the Church often hid their blackness beneath such expressions, but it seemed to encourage my master, who continued.
"Would you introduce us as merely your followers, please...?"
"That's...," began Giuseppe, blinking in surprise, but then he nodded slowly. He didn't seem to be a fool at least.
As we heard the sound of the bar being lifted hastily on the other side of the door, Giuseppe, still on his horse, leaned toward my master and spoke to her in a loud whisper. "It gives me great pleasure to see you living so faithfully by God's word. Courage and modesty are rarely seen together. I shall honor your request. But neither God nor I shall forget to whom we owe thanks."
Slowly the door opened, and from behind it came torchlight so bright it nearly hurt our eyes. Giuseppe straightened, and my master watched him like a lamb hoping to be saved.
I couldn't help but regard Giuseppe's skill and poise as somewhat suspicious, but when he gave me a glance and a small nod, I couldn't stop my tail from wagging.
Every rule had its exceptions.
"Now then," said Giuseppe, smiling like a child entrusted with a secret as the door came fully open. The hour being what it was, the people lined up beyond the door were dressed in whatever they'd been wearing, many of them seemingly having woken just minutes earlier—some of the girls were still combing their hair.
From out of the gathered crowd, pushing his way out from between two men, came a well-dressed fellow holding a spear. He was probably on lookout duty, though he looked very young for it. From the redness in the corners of his eyes, he'd very clearly been sleeping until moments ago.
But his hair was curly and flyaway, and from the fluttering leather cloak over his shoulders, the pointed toes of his boots, and his confident stride, he had the feeling of a leader about him, too.
To show my respect I sat and put my front paws closely together, my chest thrust out, as I could tell he was doing his utmost to appear worthy of it. There was no questioning his desire to heal the town. But it was an extremely heavy burden.
I couldn't imagine that this youngster had arrived in this position ready to shoulder it. Plague took the elderly first, after all.
"My name is Tory lon Kuskov Careca. I represent the Kuskov Disaster Council. In God's name, we welcome you to our town."
His voice was youthful. Giuseppe knew the town's circumstances as well as we did and was probably thinking the same thing we were. He responded with a greeting more formal than he'd used with us.
| His voice carried well. All assembled lent their ears to him, and after Giuseppe finished speaking, there was utter and complete silence.
Then, like a rising wave, the cheer was quiet at first but finished in a great roar, as though he had just delivered news of a long war finally at an end.
"You must be tired, Bishop. You and your companion should rest yourselves tonight...," said the lengthily named Careca, approaching Giuseppe. As he did so, he seemed to finally notice. "Bishop, you look unwell..."
"Care for this one before me, if you would," said Giuseppe, indicating behind him, whereupon Careca seemed to notice the mule for the first time.
His almost girlish features froze in dismay. "Someone! Help me treat him!" cried Careca, and the happily chattering crowd again fell silent as they finally realized why the bishop would be arriving in their town at such a late hour. Visitors who came knocking on their doors having narrowly escaped bandits in the night were not so very rare, after all.
Even my master and I had encountered such people while tending our flocks. The bishop was helped down from his horse by the many people who quickly rushed to his side, and he quietly explained the extent of his injuries.
Those who attended to the man on the mule seemed to have battlefield experience. No sooner had they seen his wounds than they began giving instructions to the women.
As for us, Giuseppe honored his promise and explained our presence as he said he would. Careca contented himself to give us only brief thanks.
Given that I'd fought so bravely and driven so much danger off, this was a bit unsatisfying, but Giuseppe would hardly forget the debt he owed us, and most importantly my master understood. My master patted gave my head a hearty rub. "Let's try to stay out of the way," she said, and we moved over to the side of the entrance to the town.
Given all this fuss, if my master were to tell the truth of how she came to the bishop's rescue, no doubt her dream of becoming a seamstress would easily come true.
So it felt to me a bit of a waste for her not to take the credit, but at the same time I could not help but respect her honest modesty. I looked up at her, and she noticed my gaze.
"What's the matter?"
I could not use human speech, and thus did not respond to her question. And anyway, I was my master's servant and would never do something so distasteful as proclaiming her greatness myself.
I looked away from her and watched Giuseppe be led away, whereupon I felt a sudden weight on my head. When I looked, I saw that it was my master's hand.
"I don't suppose you're waiting for a feast to be laid out to thank us, hmm?"
Ah, lamentations! I gave a quiet bark to voice my indignation. My master could occasionally be rather mean-spirited—or perhaps that was how I truly looked.
I felt wounded, and she drew me close in a sudden embrace.
Once Giuseppe was led away, there was no longer anyone near the gate. We seemed to have been utterly forgotten, which probably made my delicate master feel a bit lonely.
Her face was right by mine, so I licked it, and she giggled. "I was waiting for it a bit, too."
My master can be surprisingly indulgent when it comes to food—but as they say, no fish are had from water too clean.
I licked my master's cheek again and gave a short bark.
***
The fresh-baked wheat bread generously dipped in oil tasted like a cloud on the tongue, and the sliced beef, first blanched, then roasted, was luxurious as well. My life was a simple one, but my weakness was delicious food, and I was well satisfied.
The only thing that I found dissatisfying was the amount of food, and I finished mine quickly. My master noticed me licking the dish, and laughing, she gave me another slice of beef.
"Not enough, is it?"
She knew me too well.
I accepted it gratefully and rubbed my head against her leg.
"They say we needn't worry about the bill for room and board."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | His voice carried well. All assembled lent their ears to him, and after Giuseppe finished speaking, there was utter and complete silence.
Then, like a rising wave, the cheer was quiet at first but finished in a great roar, as though he had just delivered news of a long war finally at an end.
"You must be tired, Bishop. You and your companion should rest yourselves tonight...," said the lengthily named Careca, approaching Giuseppe. As he did so, he seemed to finally notice. "Bishop, you look unwell..."
"Care for this one before me, if you would," said Giuseppe, indicating behind him, whereupon Careca seemed to notice the mule for the first time.
His almost girlish features froze in dismay. "Someone! Help me treat him!" cried Careca, and the happily chattering crowd again fell silent as they finally realized why the bishop would be arriving in their town at such a late hour. Visitors who came knocking on their doors having narrowly escaped bandits in the night were not so very rare, after all.
Even my master and I had encountered such people while tending our flocks. The bishop was helped down from his horse by the many people who quickly rushed to his side, and he quietly explained the extent of his injuries.
Those who attended to the man on the mule seemed to have battlefield experience. No sooner had they seen his wounds than they began giving instructions to the women.
As for us, Giuseppe honored his promise and explained our presence as he said he would. Careca contented himself to give us only brief thanks.
Given that I'd fought so bravely and driven so much danger off, this was a bit unsatisfying, but Giuseppe would hardly forget the debt he owed us, and most importantly my master understood. My master patted gave my head a hearty rub. "Let's try to stay out of the way," she said, and we moved over to the side of the entrance to the town.
Given all this fuss, if my master were to tell the truth of how she came to the bishop's rescue, no doubt her dream of becoming a seamstress would easily come true.
So it felt to me a bit of a waste for her not to take the credit, but at the same time I could not help but respect her honest modesty. I looked up at her, and she noticed my gaze.
"What's the matter?"
I could not use human speech, and thus did not respond to her question. And anyway, I was my master's servant and would never do something so distasteful as proclaiming her greatness myself.
I looked away from her and watched Giuseppe be led away, whereupon I felt a sudden weight on my head. When I looked, I saw that it was my master's hand.
"I don't suppose you're waiting for a feast to be laid out to thank us, hmm?"
Ah, lamentations! I gave a quiet bark to voice my indignation. My master could occasionally be rather mean-spirited—or perhaps that was how I truly looked.
I felt wounded, and she drew me close in a sudden embrace.
Once Giuseppe was led away, there was no longer anyone near the gate. We seemed to have been utterly forgotten, which probably made my delicate master feel a bit lonely.
Her face was right by mine, so I licked it, and she giggled. "I was waiting for it a bit, too."
My master can be surprisingly indulgent when it comes to food—but as they say, no fish are had from water too clean.
I licked my master's cheek again and gave a short bark.
***
The fresh-baked wheat bread generously dipped in oil tasted like a cloud on the tongue, and the sliced beef, first blanched, then roasted, was luxurious as well. My life was a simple one, but my weakness was delicious food, and I was well satisfied.
The only thing that I found dissatisfying was the amount of food, and I finished mine quickly. My master noticed me licking the dish, and laughing, she gave me another slice of beef.
"Not enough, is it?"
She knew me too well.
I accepted it gratefully and rubbed my head against her leg.
"They say we needn't worry about the bill for room and board."
| "Though I heard them saying in the kitchen they'd give us rye bread for dinner," said my master mischievously, which made me sigh a long-suffering sigh and lie down on my belly. "The town's in a bad spot, after all. This might really be the last of the good bread they have."
I only tilted one ear toward my master's voice. I didn't bother raising my head to look at her, because I could not imagine her face wore a particularly cheerful expression. Instead of looking up at her, I settled for licking her ankle.
"Hey!" she said, poking me with her toes—my master is ticklish, you see.
It happened often that she would cut her legs on the grass of the fields, and there was never any guarantee that there would be water handy to wash the wound. In such times I had no choice but to lick them clean, which would make her face go red—not because she was trying to bear the pain, but rather because she was trying not to laugh. When she cut her foot on a stone, my licking would be so ticklish that she couldn't help herself, and she would end up kicking my face away reflexively.
And yet she seemed to enjoy stroking my back with her bare feet. She ate the last bite of bread and chewed it contentedly while rubbing her feet against my coat.
"Now then." Having enjoyed the lingering taste of the meal, she stood. "We should visit the church first and then maybe the trading house."
After stacking her dishes she put on her coat, and after a moment's hesitation she left her bell-less staff leaning against a wall. It was one thing while out in the fields, but walking around with a long staff inside a town was a good way to attract strange looks. People would think her a fortune-teller or a sorcerer—or a shepherd.
While I myself still held pride in the shepherd's work, I felt something like resignation toward the prejudice the human world had for our vocation. No doubt my master, being human herself, felt that even more keenly, and her face as she left her staff at the wall looked lonely and uncertain.
"Mm...it will be all right," she finally said, after I nudged her leg with my snout.
Though my master has never said so aloud, one of the reasons she wished to become a seamstress was to have work where no fingers would be pointed at her behind her back. I could hardly blame her; indeed, it seemed quite reasonable to me.
Her only conversation partners had been myself and the sheep, and so it had been only animals to whom she had directed her smiles. This was the shepherd's tendency, and so perhaps it was inevitable that baseless rumor about shepherds' children being half-beast, half-human would arise.
And such rumors only made shepherds lonelier, and eventually the resentment between them and the people of the towns only grew.
Perhaps my master had long since grown to hate other humans. I certainly wondered about it.
"It's fine, it's fine! Come now." She smiled and held my face between her hands.
I was well aware of what her stiffened cheeks meant. It was the human way of smiling. But I was not a human and could not so smile.
"...I'm sorry, that was a lie. To be honest, I'm very worried."
I hardly needed to ask what she was worried about.
She hated being thanked by others so much that she'd made that request of Giuseppe just before entering the town. It had been painful to watch her perform her gratefulness for this inn treating her as an honored guest.
By leaving her staff behind, it meant that she was going into the town not as a shepherdess, but as an ordinary traveler.
But would she be able to act like a normal human?
No one was more concerned about that than my master.
"Still," she said, her voice stronger as she looked up. "We must keep moving forward."
A strong person is not one without weakness. It is one who can prevail over that weakness.
I let out a bark, and my master stood.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Though I heard them saying in the kitchen they'd give us rye bread for dinner," said my master mischievously, which made me sigh a long-suffering sigh and lie down on my belly. "The town's in a bad spot, after all. This might really be the last of the good bread they have."
I only tilted one ear toward my master's voice. I didn't bother raising my head to look at her, because I could not imagine her face wore a particularly cheerful expression. Instead of looking up at her, I settled for licking her ankle.
"Hey!" she said, poking me with her toes—my master is ticklish, you see.
It happened often that she would cut her legs on the grass of the fields, and there was never any guarantee that there would be water handy to wash the wound. In such times I had no choice but to lick them clean, which would make her face go red—not because she was trying to bear the pain, but rather because she was trying not to laugh. When she cut her foot on a stone, my licking would be so ticklish that she couldn't help herself, and she would end up kicking my face away reflexively.
And yet she seemed to enjoy stroking my back with her bare feet. She ate the last bite of bread and chewed it contentedly while rubbing her feet against my coat.
"Now then." Having enjoyed the lingering taste of the meal, she stood. "We should visit the church first and then maybe the trading house."
After stacking her dishes she put on her coat, and after a moment's hesitation she left her bell-less staff leaning against a wall. It was one thing while out in the fields, but walking around with a long staff inside a town was a good way to attract strange looks. People would think her a fortune-teller or a sorcerer—or a shepherd.
While I myself still held pride in the shepherd's work, I felt something like resignation toward the prejudice the human world had for our vocation. No doubt my master, being human herself, felt that even more keenly, and her face as she left her staff at the wall looked lonely and uncertain.
"Mm...it will be all right," she finally said, after I nudged her leg with my snout.
Though my master has never said so aloud, one of the reasons she wished to become a seamstress was to have work where no fingers would be pointed at her behind her back. I could hardly blame her; indeed, it seemed quite reasonable to me.
Her only conversation partners had been myself and the sheep, and so it had been only animals to whom she had directed her smiles. This was the shepherd's tendency, and so perhaps it was inevitable that baseless rumor about shepherds' children being half-beast, half-human would arise.
And such rumors only made shepherds lonelier, and eventually the resentment between them and the people of the towns only grew.
Perhaps my master had long since grown to hate other humans. I certainly wondered about it.
"It's fine, it's fine! Come now." She smiled and held my face between her hands.
I was well aware of what her stiffened cheeks meant. It was the human way of smiling. But I was not a human and could not so smile.
"...I'm sorry, that was a lie. To be honest, I'm very worried."
I hardly needed to ask what she was worried about.
She hated being thanked by others so much that she'd made that request of Giuseppe just before entering the town. It had been painful to watch her perform her gratefulness for this inn treating her as an honored guest.
By leaving her staff behind, it meant that she was going into the town not as a shepherdess, but as an ordinary traveler.
But would she be able to act like a normal human?
No one was more concerned about that than my master.
"Still," she said, her voice stronger as she looked up. "We must keep moving forward."
A strong person is not one without weakness. It is one who can prevail over that weakness.
I let out a bark, and my master stood.
| There were few people on the street, and every one of them seemed to walk as though trying to hide the sound of their footsteps.
I wasn't sure if my master could tell, but I caught the scent of death in the air, and a close look at the rubbish heaps in the street corners revealed bones.
In stark contrast to the townspeople here, on the street lounged a fat dog that watched us suspiciously as we passed. Beside it waddled a fat rat. No doubt the truth of what it was upon which they had grown so fat was something none of the townspeople wished to speak.
I could tell my master had noticed, because she walked even closer to me than she did when we were passing through a wolf-filled forest.
The only people on the streets we passed who showed any amount of cheer were those who seemed to be merchants who'd come from elsewhere—men who barely cared about their own lives so long as they were making profit, to say nothing of the lives of others. Small wonder, then, they were able to work in a town beset by such circumstances as though it were any other town.
As I was mulling this over, the sounds of a commotion reached my ears.
I looked ahead and saw a crowd of people gathered around a building with a familiar symbol adorning it. It was the town's church.
Of course, the assembled had all come seeking some sort of solace. Ironically, from all the pushing and shoving they were doing to get into the church, it seemed unlikely that any of them would be finding peace anytime soon.
"Look at all the people," said my master, sincerely surprised. She was right—given the circumstances, it would probably be difficult to meet with Giuseppe. "I'd feel bad imposing. We'll come later."
That was what I had hoped she would decide. I gave my tail a wag to indicate my agreement.
It was not so very difficult to arrive at our next goal, the trading house. While the town was of a goodly size, the streets were so empty there was nothing to slow us down. We stopped to ask directions only twice, and after not much time at all we were there.
My master had called it simply the "trade house," but to be precise, it was the house of the Rowen Trade Guild. It wasn't only horses and sheep that formed flocks—humans did the same thing. People from the same town would form a group and take reasonable actions to ensure their mutual gain.
And then evidently, they had opened up trade houses in various towns, including this one.
When my master abandoned her career as a shepherdess, she had evidently done a favor for another branch of this guild, so in a matter of speaking she had a connection to this flock or pack. She even had something called a "letter of introduction" tucked into her breast. And still she stood in front of the building and took three deep breaths.
How many times had she felt near collapse during the incident that caused her to abandon shepherding?
I prodded her forward with my snout, and my master finally knocked on the door and went inside.
"Ah, welco—" The man did not continue, because my master hardly seemed suited to this place.
But my master had learned all too well how important it was to smile on the occasion of a first meeting like this. To someone like me who knows what her true smile looks like, the one she gave this man was a cold and obvious fake, but it seemed to be enough to fool its recipient.
"How might I help you?" said the man serenely, gesturing to a nearby chair. "The black-furred fellow's your companion, I trust?" he asked as I followed her in.
"Oh yes, er..."
"Oh, it's no trouble. I remember now. You arrived in the town yesterday, did you not? It's dangerous for a woman to travel alone, after all. That fellow might be more trustworthy than a hastily hired guard, truly," said the bearded man with a smile, which my master returned. "I asked because dogs aren't regarded particularly auspiciously in this town at the moment."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | There were few people on the street, and every one of them seemed to walk as though trying to hide the sound of their footsteps.
I wasn't sure if my master could tell, but I caught the scent of death in the air, and a close look at the rubbish heaps in the street corners revealed bones.
In stark contrast to the townspeople here, on the street lounged a fat dog that watched us suspiciously as we passed. Beside it waddled a fat rat. No doubt the truth of what it was upon which they had grown so fat was something none of the townspeople wished to speak.
I could tell my master had noticed, because she walked even closer to me than she did when we were passing through a wolf-filled forest.
The only people on the streets we passed who showed any amount of cheer were those who seemed to be merchants who'd come from elsewhere—men who barely cared about their own lives so long as they were making profit, to say nothing of the lives of others. Small wonder, then, they were able to work in a town beset by such circumstances as though it were any other town.
As I was mulling this over, the sounds of a commotion reached my ears.
I looked ahead and saw a crowd of people gathered around a building with a familiar symbol adorning it. It was the town's church.
Of course, the assembled had all come seeking some sort of solace. Ironically, from all the pushing and shoving they were doing to get into the church, it seemed unlikely that any of them would be finding peace anytime soon.
"Look at all the people," said my master, sincerely surprised. She was right—given the circumstances, it would probably be difficult to meet with Giuseppe. "I'd feel bad imposing. We'll come later."
That was what I had hoped she would decide. I gave my tail a wag to indicate my agreement.
It was not so very difficult to arrive at our next goal, the trading house. While the town was of a goodly size, the streets were so empty there was nothing to slow us down. We stopped to ask directions only twice, and after not much time at all we were there.
My master had called it simply the "trade house," but to be precise, it was the house of the Rowen Trade Guild. It wasn't only horses and sheep that formed flocks—humans did the same thing. People from the same town would form a group and take reasonable actions to ensure their mutual gain.
And then evidently, they had opened up trade houses in various towns, including this one.
When my master abandoned her career as a shepherdess, she had evidently done a favor for another branch of this guild, so in a matter of speaking she had a connection to this flock or pack. She even had something called a "letter of introduction" tucked into her breast. And still she stood in front of the building and took three deep breaths.
How many times had she felt near collapse during the incident that caused her to abandon shepherding?
I prodded her forward with my snout, and my master finally knocked on the door and went inside.
"Ah, welco—" The man did not continue, because my master hardly seemed suited to this place.
But my master had learned all too well how important it was to smile on the occasion of a first meeting like this. To someone like me who knows what her true smile looks like, the one she gave this man was a cold and obvious fake, but it seemed to be enough to fool its recipient.
"How might I help you?" said the man serenely, gesturing to a nearby chair. "The black-furred fellow's your companion, I trust?" he asked as I followed her in.
"Oh yes, er..."
"Oh, it's no trouble. I remember now. You arrived in the town yesterday, did you not? It's dangerous for a woman to travel alone, after all. That fellow might be more trustworthy than a hastily hired guard, truly," said the bearded man with a smile, which my master returned. "I asked because dogs aren't regarded particularly auspiciously in this town at the moment."
| My master sat down on the chair, and I situated myself beside her as she stroked my head, awkwardly acknowledging the man's words.
"So, then, might I ask what brings a traveler like you to this trade house?"
The good thing about merchants is that they get right to the point. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who thought so.
Having sat on the chair, my master hastily produced the letter from her breast and slid it across the counter toward the man.
Evidently, a letter can hold a terrible power in the human world. Somehow, my master didn't need to fear quitting her work as a shepherdess, nor providing for her living expenses, all because of that letter.
"Ah, this is...Ah, you're from Ruvinheigen? That's quite a long ways away, indeed."
"I was in the care of a trader named Jakob."
"I see. Well, I'll do what I can not to be bested by that bearded old man, eh?" said the man smiling widely, but then he seemed to notice my master's troubled expression. He cleared his throat deliberately and shifted in his seat. "Ahem. Welcome to the Kuskov branch of the Rowen Trade Guild. My name is Aman Guwingdott. I shall do what I can to assist you, such that your memories of this town are good ones, and the name of the Rowen Trade Guild might continue to brightly shine."
Merchants truly were excellent actors.
My master straightened and, bowing politely, she introduced herself. The two soon shook hands.
"Now then, Miss Norah, you wish to become a seamstress?"
"Yes. I have heard that this town is shorthanded right now."
"Indeed, that's certainly true. This plague is not enough to crush Kuskov. It will surely recover." My master smiled an uncomplicated smile upon hearing Aman's firm statement, but then a shadow passed over his expression, and he continued, "However, your timing may not be ideal."
"...What do you mean?"
"Yes, well, the people of Kuskov certainly ought to be grateful that you've braved the plague to come, but...," said Aman uncomfortably before seeming to decide that there was nothing for it but to come right out and speak his mind. "While the plague is lifting from this town, it's still in a wretched state, as you can plainly see. Commerce here has been dealt a terrible blow and is still in a very bad way. Far from needing new craftsmen, the ones that are already here find themselves leaving town to find work. It's good that you came to call, though, I believe. The town will surely recover, and when it does, there will be a need for workers."
This was a very different reality from what we had been led to believe, but so it went with information gained from travelers. My master listened as though carefully swallowing each word, and when he finished, she gave a firm nod.
"A seamstress, you said? I'll write a letter of introduction to the head of the clothiers' guild, then. It's the very least I can do." He followed his words with a lighthearted and clearly calculated smile.
Still, being able to act the way Aman did, in the face of the damage the plague had done to the town, was proof of his courage. My master gratefully accepted the letter and bowed her head several times. She'd made her living by discerning the moods of others and had grasped what was expected of her.
We put the trade guild behind us, impressed by the kindness Aman had shown us despite the difficult times.
After we'd followed Aman's directions, another building stood before us a short while later. In its stone walls was set an iron plate embossed with the image of a needle and thread, and even a dog like myself could tell that we had found our destination.
My master knocked this time without any hesitation, but it seemed she just couldn't get away from bad timing. Though she'd managed to get up the courage to promptly knock at the door, there didn't seem to be anybody on the other side.
"Perhaps...they're out," she said, crestfallen, but I couldn't reply to everything she said.
I scratched my neck with my hind leg and yawned a great yawn.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | My master sat down on the chair, and I situated myself beside her as she stroked my head, awkwardly acknowledging the man's words.
"So, then, might I ask what brings a traveler like you to this trade house?"
The good thing about merchants is that they get right to the point. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who thought so.
Having sat on the chair, my master hastily produced the letter from her breast and slid it across the counter toward the man.
Evidently, a letter can hold a terrible power in the human world. Somehow, my master didn't need to fear quitting her work as a shepherdess, nor providing for her living expenses, all because of that letter.
"Ah, this is...Ah, you're from Ruvinheigen? That's quite a long ways away, indeed."
"I was in the care of a trader named Jakob."
"I see. Well, I'll do what I can not to be bested by that bearded old man, eh?" said the man smiling widely, but then he seemed to notice my master's troubled expression. He cleared his throat deliberately and shifted in his seat. "Ahem. Welcome to the Kuskov branch of the Rowen Trade Guild. My name is Aman Guwingdott. I shall do what I can to assist you, such that your memories of this town are good ones, and the name of the Rowen Trade Guild might continue to brightly shine."
Merchants truly were excellent actors.
My master straightened and, bowing politely, she introduced herself. The two soon shook hands.
"Now then, Miss Norah, you wish to become a seamstress?"
"Yes. I have heard that this town is shorthanded right now."
"Indeed, that's certainly true. This plague is not enough to crush Kuskov. It will surely recover." My master smiled an uncomplicated smile upon hearing Aman's firm statement, but then a shadow passed over his expression, and he continued, "However, your timing may not be ideal."
"...What do you mean?"
"Yes, well, the people of Kuskov certainly ought to be grateful that you've braved the plague to come, but...," said Aman uncomfortably before seeming to decide that there was nothing for it but to come right out and speak his mind. "While the plague is lifting from this town, it's still in a wretched state, as you can plainly see. Commerce here has been dealt a terrible blow and is still in a very bad way. Far from needing new craftsmen, the ones that are already here find themselves leaving town to find work. It's good that you came to call, though, I believe. The town will surely recover, and when it does, there will be a need for workers."
This was a very different reality from what we had been led to believe, but so it went with information gained from travelers. My master listened as though carefully swallowing each word, and when he finished, she gave a firm nod.
"A seamstress, you said? I'll write a letter of introduction to the head of the clothiers' guild, then. It's the very least I can do." He followed his words with a lighthearted and clearly calculated smile.
Still, being able to act the way Aman did, in the face of the damage the plague had done to the town, was proof of his courage. My master gratefully accepted the letter and bowed her head several times. She'd made her living by discerning the moods of others and had grasped what was expected of her.
We put the trade guild behind us, impressed by the kindness Aman had shown us despite the difficult times.
After we'd followed Aman's directions, another building stood before us a short while later. In its stone walls was set an iron plate embossed with the image of a needle and thread, and even a dog like myself could tell that we had found our destination.
My master knocked this time without any hesitation, but it seemed she just couldn't get away from bad timing. Though she'd managed to get up the courage to promptly knock at the door, there didn't seem to be anybody on the other side.
"Perhaps...they're out," she said, crestfallen, but I couldn't reply to everything she said.
I scratched my neck with my hind leg and yawned a great yawn.
| What was it?
The moment I stood and began to turn, my field of vision swam wildly. I'd made a mistake. Something had taken me by surprise.
My back hit the ground, and my forepaws paddled in the air—but not for long. I closed my hind legs and twisted my body, and they bit the earth. The only things capable of surprising me were a hawk on the wing or something using a way of fighting no animal was capable of.
In other words, a human with a thrown weapon—and the thing that impacted my head seems to be a strange tube-shaped object.
"Enek!" shouted my master sharply, and my body went tense—but the tension within me did not burst, because my master's voice was not meant to set me upon my attacker, but rather to stop me from striking.
I stumbled, and looked up. Master, I was surely attacked!
"Wait, please!" But these words were not directed at me. "We are merely travelers, and this dog is my companion!" My master held me to make certain I didn't leap and attack, but she could not stop me from growling.
My growl was meant for my attacker, because having met the young woman's eyes, I did not imagine that mere words would suffice.
***
She had dark eyes, dark like a muddy pond, and was tall and thin. Her sharp, unflinching gaze pierced me from behind her unkempt red hair. I could not begin to guess at what thoughts lay behind those eyes, and so I did not stop my growl.
But as my master held me back, she hastily produced the letter from her breast, and the woman's eyes wavered slightly.
"I wish to speak with the master of the clothiers' guild—."
I couldn't tell whether the woman was listening to what my master said or not. She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked askance, and finally began to walk away.
My master, too, seemed not to know what the woman's intentions were, and her embrace of me only grew tighter.
But the woman only went to pick up the tube-shaped object she'd hit my head with, not even glancing at us all the while. She walked past us and put her hand to the door and finally spoke.
"So you're the 'girl who brought the lamp,' are you...?" She looked my master up and down in an obviously appraising fashion, then continued, "Are you coming in?"
Her gaze still had that ineffably muddy look to it. It was a scent I'd caught before, something like dark mud mixed with ink. It caught the legs of those who tried to stand, held the shins of those who tried to walk.
Plague did not only claim lives; it also claimed hope.
The young woman's red hair was bound back like a horse's tail, and it swayed as she entered the dark building. As she disappeared into the gloom, my ears caught the next words very distinctly.
"I am the master of this guild."
I wondered if my master had heard as well.
I looked up at her, she who stood right next to me, and it seemed that she had.
Somehow this young woman with her strange gaze had found herself in this lofty position. That was what it meant when half a town died in a plague.
Still, my master stood and nudged me forward, and we went into the building.
The gloom inside the building combined with the woman's strangeness gave it an unsettling feeling, but upon entering it was found surprisingly neat inside. The furnishings were plain but well made and were fragrant from the oil, with which they'd been carefully polished; likewise, the shelves affixed to the walls were well fitted.
I finally realized that the object that hit my head was a bolt of cloth, just as the woman reappeared from a room farther in the building.
"...So, what is your business here?"
She didn't even bother with an introduction. My master quickly handed over the letter of introduction she received from Aman, at which the woman scratched her head in irritation, then walked abruptly over to a window. She didn't seem brusque so much as she seemed to be trying to suppress her own emotions. She was merely opening the window to let in sufficient light to read, it turned out, but her every motion was sharp and irritable.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | What was it?
The moment I stood and began to turn, my field of vision swam wildly. I'd made a mistake. Something had taken me by surprise.
My back hit the ground, and my forepaws paddled in the air—but not for long. I closed my hind legs and twisted my body, and they bit the earth. The only things capable of surprising me were a hawk on the wing or something using a way of fighting no animal was capable of.
In other words, a human with a thrown weapon—and the thing that impacted my head seems to be a strange tube-shaped object.
"Enek!" shouted my master sharply, and my body went tense—but the tension within me did not burst, because my master's voice was not meant to set me upon my attacker, but rather to stop me from striking.
I stumbled, and looked up. Master, I was surely attacked!
"Wait, please!" But these words were not directed at me. "We are merely travelers, and this dog is my companion!" My master held me to make certain I didn't leap and attack, but she could not stop me from growling.
My growl was meant for my attacker, because having met the young woman's eyes, I did not imagine that mere words would suffice.
***
She had dark eyes, dark like a muddy pond, and was tall and thin. Her sharp, unflinching gaze pierced me from behind her unkempt red hair. I could not begin to guess at what thoughts lay behind those eyes, and so I did not stop my growl.
But as my master held me back, she hastily produced the letter from her breast, and the woman's eyes wavered slightly.
"I wish to speak with the master of the clothiers' guild—."
I couldn't tell whether the woman was listening to what my master said or not. She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked askance, and finally began to walk away.
My master, too, seemed not to know what the woman's intentions were, and her embrace of me only grew tighter.
But the woman only went to pick up the tube-shaped object she'd hit my head with, not even glancing at us all the while. She walked past us and put her hand to the door and finally spoke.
"So you're the 'girl who brought the lamp,' are you...?" She looked my master up and down in an obviously appraising fashion, then continued, "Are you coming in?"
Her gaze still had that ineffably muddy look to it. It was a scent I'd caught before, something like dark mud mixed with ink. It caught the legs of those who tried to stand, held the shins of those who tried to walk.
Plague did not only claim lives; it also claimed hope.
The young woman's red hair was bound back like a horse's tail, and it swayed as she entered the dark building. As she disappeared into the gloom, my ears caught the next words very distinctly.
"I am the master of this guild."
I wondered if my master had heard as well.
I looked up at her, she who stood right next to me, and it seemed that she had.
Somehow this young woman with her strange gaze had found herself in this lofty position. That was what it meant when half a town died in a plague.
Still, my master stood and nudged me forward, and we went into the building.
The gloom inside the building combined with the woman's strangeness gave it an unsettling feeling, but upon entering it was found surprisingly neat inside. The furnishings were plain but well made and were fragrant from the oil, with which they'd been carefully polished; likewise, the shelves affixed to the walls were well fitted.
I finally realized that the object that hit my head was a bolt of cloth, just as the woman reappeared from a room farther in the building.
"...So, what is your business here?"
She didn't even bother with an introduction. My master quickly handed over the letter of introduction she received from Aman, at which the woman scratched her head in irritation, then walked abruptly over to a window. She didn't seem brusque so much as she seemed to be trying to suppress her own emotions. She was merely opening the window to let in sufficient light to read, it turned out, but her every motion was sharp and irritable.
| I saw that the woman's legs were trembling.
If a wolf's fangs killed the body, then human hostility was death to the spirit.
"Hmph. A seamstress, eh?"
"I-if I might be so bold," said my master with haste, just as the woman spoke.
I might not be human, but I knew my master very well. She fears being despised by others more than almost anything else. Her hands were balled up into tight fists as she tried to push that fear down. This must have been what humans call "pathos."
"...Be my guest."
"Please, ma'am! I've got a bit of an eye for wool, at least, so...er...?"
"Like I said, be my guest," said the woman in a bored tone as she tossed the letter onto the table.
My master seemed stunned, unable to find the next words to speak. Her mouth opened and closed, and she looked like a mistreated puppy.
"So?" The woman sat in a chair, looking much older than she was. She looked at the table, which was now illuminated by the light coming in through the window. From my low vantage point I could not see what was on it, but I saw the end of a tube poking out from one edge of the table and guessed that it was the bolt of cloth that had struck my head.
No doubt the other tools one needed for tailoring were on the table as well.
"Ah...no...er..." My master evaded the woman's gaze and stumbled over her words as she tried to find a reply. She seemed on the verge of tears, and I glared at the woman with all the anger I felt.
"What? You want a test, then?" sneered the woman. She had realized why my master was hesitating.
My master's thin body flinched away, and though I knew she had enough courage to face even the fearsome wolf's howl, she couldn't help but tremble at this woman's obvious malice.
"By all means, go right ahead. Cut cloth, sew seams, thread needles. You could even ready the dye for fur treatment. Shall I see if you have the skill to become a member of the Clothiers' Guild of Kuskov? I, Guild Chief Ars Vidt?"
My master could not manage any sort of reply when faced with the anger of the woman who'd introduced herself as Ars. She was cowed and overwhelmed and stumbled back awkwardly.
"Sadly, we have no materials with which to work. Oh, certainly, if you want broken buttons, fraying thread, and bent, rusted needles, we've plenty of those. Though we can't test you with those, can we? So what do you suppose we should do, hmm?"
Ars laughed, but not because she was happy. It was because if she didn't smile, the unbearable bitterness inside her would come rushing out. The wisdom my years had given me helped me to understand just why the woman Ars was acting this way.
But my master did not have that understanding. Despite being overwhelmed by Ars's sharp tongue, she summoned her courage and tried to press on—without having the slightest understanding of Ars's mind.
"I-if it's money, I have—"
I knew Ars's rage even before it appeared upon her face.
"Money! Hah! You suppose what you need can be bought with money? I suppose so! But listen, you—if all you need is beautiful buttons, beautiful cloth, and beautiful needles, you can have all of that without a single coin!" Ars pounded the table as she ranted. My master shrank away, frozen by the woman's terrible force.
Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do to help her—because I understood why Ars was so angry.
She continued her raging. "Just turn the scriptures upside down and curse the name of God; then dig up the graves of the dead and scavenge their corpses!"
Such terrible sarcasm.
It was the practice of humans to bury their dead. They were usually buried in fine clothes, along with some valuable object or another. It was said that death was the beginning of an eternal journey, and if the many dead, in their finery, had departed from the town, then in a way their death was itself a sort of plunder.
As the thought came to me, I realized that I was mistaken to be impressed with the neatness of the room. The room was not neat—it was bereft.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | I saw that the woman's legs were trembling.
If a wolf's fangs killed the body, then human hostility was death to the spirit.
"Hmph. A seamstress, eh?"
"I-if I might be so bold," said my master with haste, just as the woman spoke.
I might not be human, but I knew my master very well. She fears being despised by others more than almost anything else. Her hands were balled up into tight fists as she tried to push that fear down. This must have been what humans call "pathos."
"...Be my guest."
"Please, ma'am! I've got a bit of an eye for wool, at least, so...er...?"
"Like I said, be my guest," said the woman in a bored tone as she tossed the letter onto the table.
My master seemed stunned, unable to find the next words to speak. Her mouth opened and closed, and she looked like a mistreated puppy.
"So?" The woman sat in a chair, looking much older than she was. She looked at the table, which was now illuminated by the light coming in through the window. From my low vantage point I could not see what was on it, but I saw the end of a tube poking out from one edge of the table and guessed that it was the bolt of cloth that had struck my head.
No doubt the other tools one needed for tailoring were on the table as well.
"Ah...no...er..." My master evaded the woman's gaze and stumbled over her words as she tried to find a reply. She seemed on the verge of tears, and I glared at the woman with all the anger I felt.
"What? You want a test, then?" sneered the woman. She had realized why my master was hesitating.
My master's thin body flinched away, and though I knew she had enough courage to face even the fearsome wolf's howl, she couldn't help but tremble at this woman's obvious malice.
"By all means, go right ahead. Cut cloth, sew seams, thread needles. You could even ready the dye for fur treatment. Shall I see if you have the skill to become a member of the Clothiers' Guild of Kuskov? I, Guild Chief Ars Vidt?"
My master could not manage any sort of reply when faced with the anger of the woman who'd introduced herself as Ars. She was cowed and overwhelmed and stumbled back awkwardly.
"Sadly, we have no materials with which to work. Oh, certainly, if you want broken buttons, fraying thread, and bent, rusted needles, we've plenty of those. Though we can't test you with those, can we? So what do you suppose we should do, hmm?"
Ars laughed, but not because she was happy. It was because if she didn't smile, the unbearable bitterness inside her would come rushing out. The wisdom my years had given me helped me to understand just why the woman Ars was acting this way.
But my master did not have that understanding. Despite being overwhelmed by Ars's sharp tongue, she summoned her courage and tried to press on—without having the slightest understanding of Ars's mind.
"I-if it's money, I have—"
I knew Ars's rage even before it appeared upon her face.
"Money! Hah! You suppose what you need can be bought with money? I suppose so! But listen, you—if all you need is beautiful buttons, beautiful cloth, and beautiful needles, you can have all of that without a single coin!" Ars pounded the table as she ranted. My master shrank away, frozen by the woman's terrible force.
Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do to help her—because I understood why Ars was so angry.
She continued her raging. "Just turn the scriptures upside down and curse the name of God; then dig up the graves of the dead and scavenge their corpses!"
Such terrible sarcasm.
It was the practice of humans to bury their dead. They were usually buried in fine clothes, along with some valuable object or another. It was said that death was the beginning of an eternal journey, and if the many dead, in their finery, had departed from the town, then in a way their death was itself a sort of plunder.
As the thought came to me, I realized that I was mistaken to be impressed with the neatness of the room. The room was not neat—it was bereft.
| It was a chilling smile, like she'd taken a short sword in her hands and cut it into her own face. Imagine, if you will, a face more gentle and mild than any beast's could ever be twisted by such bestial rage.
Nothing good could come of this.
Worried for my master's safety, I took the hem of her robe in my mouth and tugged. They say a drowning person will grasp even at straw. Who was to say that Ars, drowning in the despair the plague had wrought in her town, would not try to grab my master's leg?
At the tug I gave her robe, my master seemed to return to herself. That moment, a drop of water fell on my snout. It was very salty.
"Come...you have money, don't you?"
My master took a step back, then another step, unconsciously touching my head. It was as though she were facing a wolf in a dark forest.
Even if she couldn't see her surroundings, no matter how much danger lurked, so long as she could be certain I was at her side, she would not fear.
But what faced her now was a human whose hostility was more terrifying than the fangs of any wolf. Ars stood unsteadily. It felt like whatever lurked within her was about to take form and explode. I crouched, readying to leap at her.
The situation was on the verge of explosion.
Then there was a rough knock at the dry wooden door. "Ars! Ars Vidt!" A young-sounding man called Ars's name.
A frightened, cornered bird finds it hard to take flight. Ars made a sour face and turned away, sitting roughly back down in the chair as she clucked her tongue.
The banging at the door continued, and seemingly hurried by the sound, my master turned and ran toward it. I dutifully followed, but couldn't help heaving a disappointed sigh.
"Ars! I know you're in there! The stock purchase advances, get them together and—" The door opened with a suddenness, and the sound of the man's shouting hit my ears.
My master was just about to put her hand to the door to open it herself, and she drew back in surprise.
"Whoops—" said the man on the other side of the door, his eyes going wide. His face was a rather amiable one. But the next thing he saw after my master was me, and he froze in his tracks.
I was perfectly happy to take advantage of that and slipped past my master to emerge outside.
The man who opened the door was a head taller than my master and fairly young himself. As I moved past him, he recoiled as though from something on fire.
Once outside, I calmly turned around, and at my bark, my master finally came to join me.
The man seemed about to say something to her, but at a glare from me he shrank back; and then, as though to mask his fear, he turned his gaze back inside the building. I didn't know who he was, but there was no mistaking the unpleasant metallic smell about him. He put his hand to the door and looked back at my master one more time, then fully entered the building and closed the door behind him. I heard no voices after that, and my master and I were left standing in the middle of the street. The only reason I didn't start walking was because my master still couldn't bring herself to grasp the series of events that had just befallen her.
Even faced with a sudden, inexplicable accident or encounter, my master had always been able to cling to her staff—her work as a shepherdess. But now that staff was back at the inn.
This left her a simple traveling girl instead of a shepherdess of such skill that some called her a witch.
As it sank into her, she was on the verge of tears, and I did not bark to try and startle her out of it.
Instead, as she started to walk unsteadily along, I nuzzled against her ankles, and when she reached out to pet my head, I was there.
"...Enek," said my master to me just as the sun was beginning to set. "I'm...awful, aren't I."
My master could probably count on a single hand the number of times she had slept in a real bed. And one of those times, she quite literally cried herself to sleep. Her voice was hoarse, so she may very well have been crying while she slept, too.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | It was a chilling smile, like she'd taken a short sword in her hands and cut it into her own face. Imagine, if you will, a face more gentle and mild than any beast's could ever be twisted by such bestial rage.
Nothing good could come of this.
Worried for my master's safety, I took the hem of her robe in my mouth and tugged. They say a drowning person will grasp even at straw. Who was to say that Ars, drowning in the despair the plague had wrought in her town, would not try to grab my master's leg?
At the tug I gave her robe, my master seemed to return to herself. That moment, a drop of water fell on my snout. It was very salty.
"Come...you have money, don't you?"
My master took a step back, then another step, unconsciously touching my head. It was as though she were facing a wolf in a dark forest.
Even if she couldn't see her surroundings, no matter how much danger lurked, so long as she could be certain I was at her side, she would not fear.
But what faced her now was a human whose hostility was more terrifying than the fangs of any wolf. Ars stood unsteadily. It felt like whatever lurked within her was about to take form and explode. I crouched, readying to leap at her.
The situation was on the verge of explosion.
Then there was a rough knock at the dry wooden door. "Ars! Ars Vidt!" A young-sounding man called Ars's name.
A frightened, cornered bird finds it hard to take flight. Ars made a sour face and turned away, sitting roughly back down in the chair as she clucked her tongue.
The banging at the door continued, and seemingly hurried by the sound, my master turned and ran toward it. I dutifully followed, but couldn't help heaving a disappointed sigh.
"Ars! I know you're in there! The stock purchase advances, get them together and—" The door opened with a suddenness, and the sound of the man's shouting hit my ears.
My master was just about to put her hand to the door to open it herself, and she drew back in surprise.
"Whoops—" said the man on the other side of the door, his eyes going wide. His face was a rather amiable one. But the next thing he saw after my master was me, and he froze in his tracks.
I was perfectly happy to take advantage of that and slipped past my master to emerge outside.
The man who opened the door was a head taller than my master and fairly young himself. As I moved past him, he recoiled as though from something on fire.
Once outside, I calmly turned around, and at my bark, my master finally came to join me.
The man seemed about to say something to her, but at a glare from me he shrank back; and then, as though to mask his fear, he turned his gaze back inside the building. I didn't know who he was, but there was no mistaking the unpleasant metallic smell about him. He put his hand to the door and looked back at my master one more time, then fully entered the building and closed the door behind him. I heard no voices after that, and my master and I were left standing in the middle of the street. The only reason I didn't start walking was because my master still couldn't bring herself to grasp the series of events that had just befallen her.
Even faced with a sudden, inexplicable accident or encounter, my master had always been able to cling to her staff—her work as a shepherdess. But now that staff was back at the inn.
This left her a simple traveling girl instead of a shepherdess of such skill that some called her a witch.
As it sank into her, she was on the verge of tears, and I did not bark to try and startle her out of it.
Instead, as she started to walk unsteadily along, I nuzzled against her ankles, and when she reached out to pet my head, I was there.
"...Enek," said my master to me just as the sun was beginning to set. "I'm...awful, aren't I."
My master could probably count on a single hand the number of times she had slept in a real bed. And one of those times, she quite literally cried herself to sleep. Her voice was hoarse, so she may very well have been crying while she slept, too.
| "Half the town died in the plague, after all."
The copper pitcher was blackened and rusted with age and dented here and there from hard use. I could only be impressed that it didn't leak.
And of course, I was even more surprised by my master, who, despite being confronted with such hostility, was so kindhearted that she didn't think ill of Ars.
***
She held the pitcher in silence for a while, and just when I thought she was going to go back to bed, she rubbed my back with her foot and came to sit on the bed's edge.
"I suppose I can't become a merchant."
Merchants lie, cheat, and steal as a matter of course. It was a different sort of courage from that of my master, who would gut a sheep if need be. It was fundamentally impossible for her to take advantage of someone else for her own profit.
I sniffed at my master's nose. It was free of dirt and dust for the first time in a long time, but she pulled it away as though surprised.
"So many people died...and I was thinking only of myself."
She fell backward onto the bed, and from the sound of rustling fabric that immediately followed, I could tell she was curling up under the covers.
Goodness me.
If she wasn't so inclined to blame herself, her life would have been a little bit easier.
Still.
"Mm...Enek?"
Still, I cannot deny that I like the way she is. That was the source of her most basic sincerity.
"I'm fine...I'm fine, mm...Eek, that tickles...Hey, you!"
I poked and played with her, and after perhaps three rounds of attack and defense, my master gathered me up in an embrace, nuzzling her face into my neck. "We can't stop. Can we?"
There was nothing I loved so much as the sight of her profile as she walked a field all by herself. I gave a growl and a bark, and she embraced me again, almost painfully tight, and then released me.
"Let's go see the bishop." Her eyes were red from crying, but her smile was a genuine one. "Besides, giving our confession to a priest might do us some good, eh?" she continued, busily making herself ready to leave. She didn't notice the way I'd curled my tail up, asking her if I was not strong enough for her.
Master!
"Come, don't give me that look! Playtime is over!"
I have never been more grateful than I was in that moment not to have the ability to speak!
Upon leaving the inn, the sky was red. In our previous life, we would soon have been making ready to sleep.
My master yawned a small yawn as we walked, no doubt the trace of the sleepiness she felt having cried herself past exhaustion. She noticed my glance and turned away, trying to cover up her yawn.
The streets were as deserted as they had been earlier, but bathed in the light of the setting sun, they now seemed somehow even sadder. My master had no love for dusk, and as we walked alone through the empty streets, all the while she kept her hand on the back of my neck.
But I could not blame her for that. I, too, dislike dusk. If you would ask me what about it I find distasteful, I would answer straightaway that it's the length of the shadows. Atop a small hill and facing the sunset, how long my master's shadow could grow! Such shadows made it difficult to discern the true size of things and made me pointlessly wary. At sunset, even sheep have shadows of terrifying length.
In these deserted streets the only shadows were our own, and even so, I could not shake a certain unease about them. Eventually I sensed another presence in the street, and there met the wary gaze of a stray dog. My master finally let slip a sigh of relief when we arrived at the church and there, finally, saw the faces of other people. I understood her relief all too well.
"I hope the bishop is all right," said my master.
I wouldn't have had an answer for her even if she'd asked me, but given his condition the previous night, only God knew whether he would recover or not.
Human bodies were fragile.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Half the town died in the plague, after all."
The copper pitcher was blackened and rusted with age and dented here and there from hard use. I could only be impressed that it didn't leak.
And of course, I was even more surprised by my master, who, despite being confronted with such hostility, was so kindhearted that she didn't think ill of Ars.
***
She held the pitcher in silence for a while, and just when I thought she was going to go back to bed, she rubbed my back with her foot and came to sit on the bed's edge.
"I suppose I can't become a merchant."
Merchants lie, cheat, and steal as a matter of course. It was a different sort of courage from that of my master, who would gut a sheep if need be. It was fundamentally impossible for her to take advantage of someone else for her own profit.
I sniffed at my master's nose. It was free of dirt and dust for the first time in a long time, but she pulled it away as though surprised.
"So many people died...and I was thinking only of myself."
She fell backward onto the bed, and from the sound of rustling fabric that immediately followed, I could tell she was curling up under the covers.
Goodness me.
If she wasn't so inclined to blame herself, her life would have been a little bit easier.
Still.
"Mm...Enek?"
Still, I cannot deny that I like the way she is. That was the source of her most basic sincerity.
"I'm fine...I'm fine, mm...Eek, that tickles...Hey, you!"
I poked and played with her, and after perhaps three rounds of attack and defense, my master gathered me up in an embrace, nuzzling her face into my neck. "We can't stop. Can we?"
There was nothing I loved so much as the sight of her profile as she walked a field all by herself. I gave a growl and a bark, and she embraced me again, almost painfully tight, and then released me.
"Let's go see the bishop." Her eyes were red from crying, but her smile was a genuine one. "Besides, giving our confession to a priest might do us some good, eh?" she continued, busily making herself ready to leave. She didn't notice the way I'd curled my tail up, asking her if I was not strong enough for her.
Master!
"Come, don't give me that look! Playtime is over!"
I have never been more grateful than I was in that moment not to have the ability to speak!
Upon leaving the inn, the sky was red. In our previous life, we would soon have been making ready to sleep.
My master yawned a small yawn as we walked, no doubt the trace of the sleepiness she felt having cried herself past exhaustion. She noticed my glance and turned away, trying to cover up her yawn.
The streets were as deserted as they had been earlier, but bathed in the light of the setting sun, they now seemed somehow even sadder. My master had no love for dusk, and as we walked alone through the empty streets, all the while she kept her hand on the back of my neck.
But I could not blame her for that. I, too, dislike dusk. If you would ask me what about it I find distasteful, I would answer straightaway that it's the length of the shadows. Atop a small hill and facing the sunset, how long my master's shadow could grow! Such shadows made it difficult to discern the true size of things and made me pointlessly wary. At sunset, even sheep have shadows of terrifying length.
In these deserted streets the only shadows were our own, and even so, I could not shake a certain unease about them. Eventually I sensed another presence in the street, and there met the wary gaze of a stray dog. My master finally let slip a sigh of relief when we arrived at the church and there, finally, saw the faces of other people. I understood her relief all too well.
"I hope the bishop is all right," said my master.
I wouldn't have had an answer for her even if she'd asked me, but given his condition the previous night, only God knew whether he would recover or not.
Human bodies were fragile.
| "Ah, you're the girl...," came a voice addressing my master no sooner than we had entered the church.
A group of plump women were gathered inside the open doors of the church, whispering about something.
From what little knowledge I have, given the white cloth covering their arms and heads, they were probably responsible for caring for the two important men who'd come to their church.
With such sturdy-looking people looking after one, it was easy to imagine how the feelings of weakness that threatened to extinguish one's light might be brushed aside.
"Er, I thought I might ask after the condition of the bishop."
"Ah, I see. He's calmed now and is sleeping. Despite that terrible wound, he was up offering prayers until just a moment ago."
Among beasts and among humans, if there is a group greater than three, there will be a leader. The sturdiest woman spoke, and the others merely followed her lead and nodded.
"Was the wound so very bad, then?"
"It was. When we were awaked and rushed here, we thought it wasn't too bad at first, but at his age...Still, the bishop has the protection of God, so he'll surely recover soon." She smiled a hearty smile as befit her robustness, one that would surely have elicited a smile from and given peaceful rest to a corpse. My master was terrible at false smiles, and even she found herself returning it.
"And, er...what of the other man?" My master stumbled over this question, as she had seen earlier how terrible his wounds had been.
"The wound to his head was not so very great a thing. There was a lot of blood from his head and nose, though, so it looked worse than it was. He still hasn't woken up, but his color is good, so I think he'll be awake soon."
It was not so rare to hear of a sheep falling from a crag or creek, losing consciousness, and quietly dying without ever waking again.
In response to the woman's relaxed manner, my master nodded seriously. "Might I be able to visit the both of them?"
"Hmm? Oh, certainly. The bishop for his part has been unmovable from his holy duties, but still asked after you several times," said the woman, then paused and looked at me. "And your black knight here, too."
That had to be why the women hadn't seemed afraid when they'd looked at me. I was pleased with that, but for some reason my master seemed uncomfortable with me being called a knight. Master, are you not proud of the praise I've earned?
"Enek, a knight...I don't think..."
"Not at all! It's said that the actions of this little black knight of yours were very important in bringing the light of hope back to our town. The same is said for the young angel traveling with him, of course."
"Angel? Oh...n-no, I'm not an..." She blushed red up to her ears and looked down. She'd been called a spirit before, or a sprite, but always with a note of suspicion. Ever since then, she'd been unaccustomed to any sort of praise.
I was starting to become indirectly embarrassed from my master's own embarrassment, so I gave a bark and rubbed my nose against her leg.
"Ha-ha-ha! See, even your little knight agrees there's no cause for such humility."
***
She didn't seem able to put it into words, but as I looked at her still-downcast face, her expression was not displeased.
"Anyhow, feel free to go have a look at the bishop's sleeping face. They've both got rather beatific sleeping faces, you might know."
She spoke as though she were boasting about her own children, and I felt as though I understood why. The two men had returned hope to the town, and as such, were a source of pride. The good treatment my master and I had received was also due entirely to having brought that light here.
And of course, it was only proper that work be repaid, so we ought to have stood proudly and accepted the honor. But what would they have done if they knew my master had been a shepherd?
I prayed to the God that supposedly lived in this church that they would not ask how my master and I were connected.
"Right this way, then."
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Ah, you're the girl...," came a voice addressing my master no sooner than we had entered the church.
A group of plump women were gathered inside the open doors of the church, whispering about something.
From what little knowledge I have, given the white cloth covering their arms and heads, they were probably responsible for caring for the two important men who'd come to their church.
With such sturdy-looking people looking after one, it was easy to imagine how the feelings of weakness that threatened to extinguish one's light might be brushed aside.
"Er, I thought I might ask after the condition of the bishop."
"Ah, I see. He's calmed now and is sleeping. Despite that terrible wound, he was up offering prayers until just a moment ago."
Among beasts and among humans, if there is a group greater than three, there will be a leader. The sturdiest woman spoke, and the others merely followed her lead and nodded.
"Was the wound so very bad, then?"
"It was. When we were awaked and rushed here, we thought it wasn't too bad at first, but at his age...Still, the bishop has the protection of God, so he'll surely recover soon." She smiled a hearty smile as befit her robustness, one that would surely have elicited a smile from and given peaceful rest to a corpse. My master was terrible at false smiles, and even she found herself returning it.
"And, er...what of the other man?" My master stumbled over this question, as she had seen earlier how terrible his wounds had been.
"The wound to his head was not so very great a thing. There was a lot of blood from his head and nose, though, so it looked worse than it was. He still hasn't woken up, but his color is good, so I think he'll be awake soon."
It was not so rare to hear of a sheep falling from a crag or creek, losing consciousness, and quietly dying without ever waking again.
In response to the woman's relaxed manner, my master nodded seriously. "Might I be able to visit the both of them?"
"Hmm? Oh, certainly. The bishop for his part has been unmovable from his holy duties, but still asked after you several times," said the woman, then paused and looked at me. "And your black knight here, too."
That had to be why the women hadn't seemed afraid when they'd looked at me. I was pleased with that, but for some reason my master seemed uncomfortable with me being called a knight. Master, are you not proud of the praise I've earned?
"Enek, a knight...I don't think..."
"Not at all! It's said that the actions of this little black knight of yours were very important in bringing the light of hope back to our town. The same is said for the young angel traveling with him, of course."
"Angel? Oh...n-no, I'm not an..." She blushed red up to her ears and looked down. She'd been called a spirit before, or a sprite, but always with a note of suspicion. Ever since then, she'd been unaccustomed to any sort of praise.
I was starting to become indirectly embarrassed from my master's own embarrassment, so I gave a bark and rubbed my nose against her leg.
"Ha-ha-ha! See, even your little knight agrees there's no cause for such humility."
***
She didn't seem able to put it into words, but as I looked at her still-downcast face, her expression was not displeased.
"Anyhow, feel free to go have a look at the bishop's sleeping face. They've both got rather beatific sleeping faces, you might know."
She spoke as though she were boasting about her own children, and I felt as though I understood why. The two men had returned hope to the town, and as such, were a source of pride. The good treatment my master and I had received was also due entirely to having brought that light here.
And of course, it was only proper that work be repaid, so we ought to have stood proudly and accepted the honor. But what would they have done if they knew my master had been a shepherd?
I prayed to the God that supposedly lived in this church that they would not ask how my master and I were connected.
"Right this way, then."
| The man who'd employed us as shepherds was also a man of the church, and though we'd sometimes had occasion to enter a church, one could not call this one grand, not even as flattery.
Though it was made of sturdy stone, the lack of maintenance was all too obvious. There were cobwebbed niches where the candles had gone unlit for a duration, which made me wonder how long it had been since anyone had touched these stone walls.
The hinges of the wooden door that led to the room where the bishop lay had evidently rusted away; the door now leaned against the wall, and a simple cloth hung in the doorway in its stead.
Even if the town had deep faith, without a priest there, the items in the church must have been neglected.
"In here," the woman said in a voice suddenly much quieter than it had been a moment ago. She pulled the cloth aside and gestured for my master to enter. I thought I might be barred, but the woman smiled and let me pass.
I elevated my opinion of her a bit.
"...It's only been a day, and he's so—"
I couldn't help but wonder if my master would have finished by saying "thin."
The woman nodded and for the first time let a worried-sounding sigh escape.
Evidently we hadn't mistaken the bishop's condition, despite the gloom. An injury can be enough to cause someone to weaken and waste away—and the bishop was not a young man to begin with.
My master clasped her hands, closed her eyes, and began to pray. I doubted I would ever forget the way the church had treated her before, so I couldn't bring myself to feel comfortable there. I sat down and waited. At the very least, Giuseppe bore no responsibility for my master's suffering. Far from it, he'd held me in properly high esteem, so I could not deny that I, too, hoped he recovered.
"...And may the blessing of God be upon you," my master finally murmured, then reached out to touch the sheet under which Giuseppe quietly slept. She then turned to face the woman. Humans are very talented with speech, but in such times a simple look was often more eloquent. The woman nodded and placed her hand on my master's shoulder, and the two of them left the room. I stood and turned to follow them, but then looked back around.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought I felt Giuseppe's eyes on me.
But his old body still lay asleep and unmoving there on the bed.
I was a sheepdog, who slept under the stars and felt the breath of the land on my body. I had an instinct for the movements of the earth and the heavens. I was glad I could not speak, nor have the wealth of expressions that humans enjoy. Otherwise, I might not have been able to hide my feelings from my master.
On the other hand, his sleeping face had obviously been very peaceful, so perhaps Giuseppe's heart was peaceful as well.
This was not cause for sorrow.
I left the room and followed my master.
When two sparrows meet, noise follows.
So it should be no surprise that when humans (who are more talkative than any bird) assemble, a great commotion always comes with them.
As she'd gone to visit Giuseppe and his companion, whose name was evidently Rudeau Dorhof, it seemed the villagers would not let my master quietly return to her bed.
"Ah, so you're from Ruvinheigen, eh?...Where is that, incidentally?"
"I've heard of the place! They say the cathedral there is lit all night long thanks to God."
"Yes, yes! And I've heard they tan most of their leather there on tanning stones of gold."
"Gold?! Well, that's Ruvinheigen for you. Where was it again...?"
Thus it went, on and on, villagers either peppering my master with questions or talking over her among themselves.
I was lying beside my master and yawned a lazy yawn. The words coming out of their mouths were no different from the baaing of a flock of sheep, as far as I was concerned.
"Didn't Father Nico say the cathedral in the holy city of Ruvinheigen reaches all the way to the heavens?"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | The man who'd employed us as shepherds was also a man of the church, and though we'd sometimes had occasion to enter a church, one could not call this one grand, not even as flattery.
Though it was made of sturdy stone, the lack of maintenance was all too obvious. There were cobwebbed niches where the candles had gone unlit for a duration, which made me wonder how long it had been since anyone had touched these stone walls.
The hinges of the wooden door that led to the room where the bishop lay had evidently rusted away; the door now leaned against the wall, and a simple cloth hung in the doorway in its stead.
Even if the town had deep faith, without a priest there, the items in the church must have been neglected.
"In here," the woman said in a voice suddenly much quieter than it had been a moment ago. She pulled the cloth aside and gestured for my master to enter. I thought I might be barred, but the woman smiled and let me pass.
I elevated my opinion of her a bit.
"...It's only been a day, and he's so—"
I couldn't help but wonder if my master would have finished by saying "thin."
The woman nodded and for the first time let a worried-sounding sigh escape.
Evidently we hadn't mistaken the bishop's condition, despite the gloom. An injury can be enough to cause someone to weaken and waste away—and the bishop was not a young man to begin with.
My master clasped her hands, closed her eyes, and began to pray. I doubted I would ever forget the way the church had treated her before, so I couldn't bring myself to feel comfortable there. I sat down and waited. At the very least, Giuseppe bore no responsibility for my master's suffering. Far from it, he'd held me in properly high esteem, so I could not deny that I, too, hoped he recovered.
"...And may the blessing of God be upon you," my master finally murmured, then reached out to touch the sheet under which Giuseppe quietly slept. She then turned to face the woman. Humans are very talented with speech, but in such times a simple look was often more eloquent. The woman nodded and placed her hand on my master's shoulder, and the two of them left the room. I stood and turned to follow them, but then looked back around.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought I felt Giuseppe's eyes on me.
But his old body still lay asleep and unmoving there on the bed.
I was a sheepdog, who slept under the stars and felt the breath of the land on my body. I had an instinct for the movements of the earth and the heavens. I was glad I could not speak, nor have the wealth of expressions that humans enjoy. Otherwise, I might not have been able to hide my feelings from my master.
On the other hand, his sleeping face had obviously been very peaceful, so perhaps Giuseppe's heart was peaceful as well.
This was not cause for sorrow.
I left the room and followed my master.
When two sparrows meet, noise follows.
So it should be no surprise that when humans (who are more talkative than any bird) assemble, a great commotion always comes with them.
As she'd gone to visit Giuseppe and his companion, whose name was evidently Rudeau Dorhof, it seemed the villagers would not let my master quietly return to her bed.
"Ah, so you're from Ruvinheigen, eh?...Where is that, incidentally?"
"I've heard of the place! They say the cathedral there is lit all night long thanks to God."
"Yes, yes! And I've heard they tan most of their leather there on tanning stones of gold."
"Gold?! Well, that's Ruvinheigen for you. Where was it again...?"
Thus it went, on and on, villagers either peppering my master with questions or talking over her among themselves.
I was lying beside my master and yawned a lazy yawn. The words coming out of their mouths were no different from the baaing of a flock of sheep, as far as I was concerned.
"Didn't Father Nico say the cathedral in the holy city of Ruvinheigen reaches all the way to the heavens?"
| "I wonder how it really is?"
The conversation finally turned to my master, and I glanced up at her. She was smiling, but it was a pained smile, not a pleasant one.
"I suppose...that might be true."
It was true that the cathedral was tall enough that one had to look up to see it, and perhaps crows and sparrows could be counted as angels.
But if she'd denied that, it would've made a liar out of Father Nico. My master had learned these sorts of truths from hard experience.
No matter how dire the circumstances, it was never good to accuse a clergyman of lying.
"Indeed! I remember Father Nico saying he wanted to see Ruvinheigen one more time before he died."
"But still, Bishop Giuseppe has been there many times himself, and this time passed through it on his way to this very town. And it was Miss Norah, who once worked at the Ruvinheigen Church, who led him here. I can't help but suppose that God heard Father Nico's prayers," said a woman, and all present nodded firmly.
Then they all ardently sought to shake my master's hand again, saying "Thank you" over and over again.
This all made my master very uneasy, either because she was not used to being thanked or because her experience led her to feel uncomfortable with even the small lie of having "worked at the church."
Grain millers, shepherds, tanners—all were despised just as thoroughly as executioners and tax collectors. If she was to let slip the truth here, all the smiles she received would be strained ones, and none would have any warmth in them.
And in any case, my master wasn't lying by saying she worked at the church. She simply wasn't telling the whole truth.
It wasn't even untrue that she was to thank for Giuseppe's arrival in this town. I felt that if the town was going to treat us with such overflowing gratitude, we ought to accept it with all pride...but that was difficult for my master.
For my part, as I participated in this discussion, I received a pork sausage, albeit one that was about to go bad. Thanks are so much more substantial when they come with something more.
"Still," asked a woman after the questions abated. "Why were you coming here in the first place? Hadn't you heard the rumors?"
We had finally come to the heart of the matter, I thought, which illustrated the difference in our respective priorities.
My master and I were homeless wanderers. We were less concerned with the happenings of the next town over than we were about whether or not there was someone at our side. For someone who lived in the same place their entire life, the opposite was true.
"Yes, I'd heard."
"So why did you come? Was it because—did God tell you to?"
The conversation had jumped in a strange direction, and the other women's expressions were changing.
Unsurprisingly, my master hastily demurred. But in doing so, she would have to reveal her true reason, and she looked down at me. I was certain she was remembering how Ars, chief of the clothiers' guild, had treated her. If my master admitted she'd come here looking for work, she might be given quite a tongue-lashing.
Until that very moment, even she seemed about to be overwhelmed by the conversation around her; at least it had been pleasant. I couldn't blame her for being desperate to preserve that mood.
Unfortunately, I was in no position to come to her aid. I curled up my tail and drooped my head.
"Oh, there she is!" came the sole man's voice, cutting through the voices of all the women. In that moment, the mood of the place changed instantly.
It was as though they were a flock of sheep stunned into silence by the sound of a wolf's footfalls.
First my master was surprised by this, and only a moment later did she follow all the women's gazes to their end.
There was the man who'd interrupted us at the guild house earlier that day. He was looking at my master, waving his hand.
"What're you doing here, you devil!"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "I wonder how it really is?"
The conversation finally turned to my master, and I glanced up at her. She was smiling, but it was a pained smile, not a pleasant one.
"I suppose...that might be true."
It was true that the cathedral was tall enough that one had to look up to see it, and perhaps crows and sparrows could be counted as angels.
But if she'd denied that, it would've made a liar out of Father Nico. My master had learned these sorts of truths from hard experience.
No matter how dire the circumstances, it was never good to accuse a clergyman of lying.
"Indeed! I remember Father Nico saying he wanted to see Ruvinheigen one more time before he died."
"But still, Bishop Giuseppe has been there many times himself, and this time passed through it on his way to this very town. And it was Miss Norah, who once worked at the Ruvinheigen Church, who led him here. I can't help but suppose that God heard Father Nico's prayers," said a woman, and all present nodded firmly.
Then they all ardently sought to shake my master's hand again, saying "Thank you" over and over again.
This all made my master very uneasy, either because she was not used to being thanked or because her experience led her to feel uncomfortable with even the small lie of having "worked at the church."
Grain millers, shepherds, tanners—all were despised just as thoroughly as executioners and tax collectors. If she was to let slip the truth here, all the smiles she received would be strained ones, and none would have any warmth in them.
And in any case, my master wasn't lying by saying she worked at the church. She simply wasn't telling the whole truth.
It wasn't even untrue that she was to thank for Giuseppe's arrival in this town. I felt that if the town was going to treat us with such overflowing gratitude, we ought to accept it with all pride...but that was difficult for my master.
For my part, as I participated in this discussion, I received a pork sausage, albeit one that was about to go bad. Thanks are so much more substantial when they come with something more.
"Still," asked a woman after the questions abated. "Why were you coming here in the first place? Hadn't you heard the rumors?"
We had finally come to the heart of the matter, I thought, which illustrated the difference in our respective priorities.
My master and I were homeless wanderers. We were less concerned with the happenings of the next town over than we were about whether or not there was someone at our side. For someone who lived in the same place their entire life, the opposite was true.
"Yes, I'd heard."
"So why did you come? Was it because—did God tell you to?"
The conversation had jumped in a strange direction, and the other women's expressions were changing.
Unsurprisingly, my master hastily demurred. But in doing so, she would have to reveal her true reason, and she looked down at me. I was certain she was remembering how Ars, chief of the clothiers' guild, had treated her. If my master admitted she'd come here looking for work, she might be given quite a tongue-lashing.
Until that very moment, even she seemed about to be overwhelmed by the conversation around her; at least it had been pleasant. I couldn't blame her for being desperate to preserve that mood.
Unfortunately, I was in no position to come to her aid. I curled up my tail and drooped my head.
"Oh, there she is!" came the sole man's voice, cutting through the voices of all the women. In that moment, the mood of the place changed instantly.
It was as though they were a flock of sheep stunned into silence by the sound of a wolf's footfalls.
First my master was surprised by this, and only a moment later did she follow all the women's gazes to their end.
There was the man who'd interrupted us at the guild house earlier that day. He was looking at my master, waving his hand.
"What're you doing here, you devil!"
| My master winced at this sudden turn, automatically reaching down to put her hand on my head.
"Just where do you think you are? This is a church, the house of God!"
"Come now, don't scream at me like that. I'm allowed to come to church, too, am I not? It's not the righteous man that needs God, but the wicked man," he said, his lip curling up at one corner in a sarcastic sneer.
His expression was clearly hostile, but it was difficult to see at what the spearpoint of his malice was aimed.
Just as I was feeling a certain kinship with that, one of the women ventured to answer.
"Shut your mouth! You usurer! You loan shark!"
The man merely shrugged off the vicious accusation—he raised his hands to about the level of his shoulders, his palms facing the women.
Usurer. Moneylender.
So he was one of us.
"Fine, fine. But I haven't come after your meager little coin purses today, I'll have you know."
The reaction of the women in that instant was indescribably comical. They looked at each other uncertainly. "Well, if that's so..."
I understood humans surprisingly well for a dog. Their thoughts were utterly obvious to me.
"E-er, do you have some business with me?" said my master, after a few moments of silence.
The women's body language told her not to talk to this fellow, but my kindhearted master finally met the man's gaze—whereupon a smile bloomed upon his face, and he spoke in a merry tone.
"Well, we met in such circumstances earlier today, after all! After you left, I heard the circumstances from Ars, and I knew I couldn't leave the situation as it was."
"...Ci-circumstances?" asked one of the women finally, unable to restrain her curiosity. It was like dangling a barley shoot in front of a cat.
The man shrugged again and answered, "Listen up, you all. This girl came here in search of work."
Everyone's gazes fell upon her, and my master froze in sudden fear.
"She came here to this plague-ridden town that everyone else is fleeing. She came all this way to become a seamstress, and Ars screamed at her and drove her away."
The silence that followed was surely a long one for my master. I managed to hold back my growl, but my master's hand gripped the back of my neck with nearly painful force. The tension was like the first step onto the rickety boards of an old bridge across a deep river, and everyone there felt it.
When gazes fell upon my master in a town, they held fear, hostility, and hatred. The same staff that was used to gather sheep in the fields would drive people away when in town.
Witch. Pagan. Shepherd.
All three words carried the same meaning, and my master was always looking down.
Just as I was starting to worry that her grip around my neck was going to choke me to death—
"Welcome to Kuskov!" said one of the women with tears in her eyes, taking my master's empty hands in hers. My master, not understanding, remained downcast until her gaze flicked frantically here and there as the other women gathered around her to join in the embrace. Since she'd done the same thing to me just a moment earlier, I decided to let her be.
But I noticed that the man was still watching us with unsmiling eyes.
I knew that moneylenders were largely despised. No doubt he was envious of the treatment my master was getting.
"Well, you know Ars—she can be rather stubborn. You might have to wait awhile, but circumstances change. So please, don't leave town yet. Stay awhile. That's all I wanted to say," said the man, even as my master was surrounded by the women. One corner of his lips was still curled up. "And please, do let me know if you'd like to be a seamstress," he finished with a courteous bow.
The women had silently listened to the man's talk up until that point, but embracing my master together, they replied for her.
"Have some shame, moneylender! How dare you try to get this girl's help!"
"That's right, don't you dare try to make her suffer the way you have us!"
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | My master winced at this sudden turn, automatically reaching down to put her hand on my head.
"Just where do you think you are? This is a church, the house of God!"
"Come now, don't scream at me like that. I'm allowed to come to church, too, am I not? It's not the righteous man that needs God, but the wicked man," he said, his lip curling up at one corner in a sarcastic sneer.
His expression was clearly hostile, but it was difficult to see at what the spearpoint of his malice was aimed.
Just as I was feeling a certain kinship with that, one of the women ventured to answer.
"Shut your mouth! You usurer! You loan shark!"
The man merely shrugged off the vicious accusation—he raised his hands to about the level of his shoulders, his palms facing the women.
Usurer. Moneylender.
So he was one of us.
"Fine, fine. But I haven't come after your meager little coin purses today, I'll have you know."
The reaction of the women in that instant was indescribably comical. They looked at each other uncertainly. "Well, if that's so..."
I understood humans surprisingly well for a dog. Their thoughts were utterly obvious to me.
"E-er, do you have some business with me?" said my master, after a few moments of silence.
The women's body language told her not to talk to this fellow, but my kindhearted master finally met the man's gaze—whereupon a smile bloomed upon his face, and he spoke in a merry tone.
"Well, we met in such circumstances earlier today, after all! After you left, I heard the circumstances from Ars, and I knew I couldn't leave the situation as it was."
"...Ci-circumstances?" asked one of the women finally, unable to restrain her curiosity. It was like dangling a barley shoot in front of a cat.
The man shrugged again and answered, "Listen up, you all. This girl came here in search of work."
Everyone's gazes fell upon her, and my master froze in sudden fear.
"She came here to this plague-ridden town that everyone else is fleeing. She came all this way to become a seamstress, and Ars screamed at her and drove her away."
The silence that followed was surely a long one for my master. I managed to hold back my growl, but my master's hand gripped the back of my neck with nearly painful force. The tension was like the first step onto the rickety boards of an old bridge across a deep river, and everyone there felt it.
When gazes fell upon my master in a town, they held fear, hostility, and hatred. The same staff that was used to gather sheep in the fields would drive people away when in town.
Witch. Pagan. Shepherd.
All three words carried the same meaning, and my master was always looking down.
Just as I was starting to worry that her grip around my neck was going to choke me to death—
"Welcome to Kuskov!" said one of the women with tears in her eyes, taking my master's empty hands in hers. My master, not understanding, remained downcast until her gaze flicked frantically here and there as the other women gathered around her to join in the embrace. Since she'd done the same thing to me just a moment earlier, I decided to let her be.
But I noticed that the man was still watching us with unsmiling eyes.
I knew that moneylenders were largely despised. No doubt he was envious of the treatment my master was getting.
"Well, you know Ars—she can be rather stubborn. You might have to wait awhile, but circumstances change. So please, don't leave town yet. Stay awhile. That's all I wanted to say," said the man, even as my master was surrounded by the women. One corner of his lips was still curled up. "And please, do let me know if you'd like to be a seamstress," he finished with a courteous bow.
The women had silently listened to the man's talk up until that point, but embracing my master together, they replied for her.
"Have some shame, moneylender! How dare you try to get this girl's help!"
"That's right, don't you dare try to make her suffer the way you have us!"
| "How dare you tell such an obvious lie in the church!"
"I exchange the money of now for the money of the future, so I'm a money changer." His expression still didn't change, but for the first time, his words carried some force.
The women all fell suddenly silent, as though doused in cold water, and it took some time before the strength came back to their gazes.
"That's all I had to say. Now then, if you'll excuse me." His final smile was of a piece with the smiles of all who make their living in trade.
A strange exhaustion lingered, as though a storm had blown itself out in the room. The women held their breath until Johan's footsteps disappeared.
"W-well, anyhow, if you've come looking for work, you're very welcome here. Kuskov will surely recover."
"Yes, yes! Just having more people to make the town lively again is a great help."
Perhaps because this treatment was so different from Ars's attitude, my master was a bit worried, but once she understood that the women were not lying to her, a smile gradually returned to her face.
It was the smile of one who had spent many days in the field finally catching sight of a town.
When I looked up at my master's face, she nodded with a smile.
That night, we returned to the inn.
"What a busy day," said my master as she stroked my back with her bare feet.
How right she was.
Certainly it had been more stimulating than herding sheep.
***
The next day, our breakfast was a very lively one.
The brave little knights that had survived the plague gathered in our room and listened fervently to my master's stories. It was not certain whether or not one of the women my master had spoken to in the church the previous day had spread the word she was perfectly suited to caring for children, but in any case, when the innkeeper had come to bring breakfast, the children were right behind her.
But perhaps because she felt she owed a debt for staying at the inn, my master invited them into her room with nary a pause, sharing her small breakfast with them and telling tales, both myths and stories from her travels.
I was a bit exasperated with my master's strong sense of duty, but I endured the little knights' rather rude treatment of me without any complaint. I was rather impressed with my own forbearance, honestly, and eventually I noticed that my master's stories had diverted their attention from me.
The youngest wound up on my master's lap and eventually fell asleep. On either side of her presently were slightly larger children, who clung to her clothing and looked up at her, totally absorbed in her story.
My master's face was uncharacteristically mild, and even when she had to quiet a fussing child or soothe the tears of one who'd misunderstood her stories, she did so happily. She seemed nearly overwhelmed a few times but has also matured quite a bit herself. Knowing as I did that my master had been driven around by her shepherd's staff more than she'd wielded it herself, I couldn't help but find this rather affecting.
And of course, it seemed more natural for my human master to be surrounded by human children. Although there was not much difference between the ability to communicate with them and with me.
"...And they lived happily ever after!" As she finished the story, there was a collective sigh of relief from the children. They'd all been rather absorbed in it, apparently.
Still, it wouldn't take much for them to become even more savage than I. If you gave them something to eat, they would stuff themselves fit to burst—which was even more true when it came to stories, since no matter how many they heard, their appetite never lessened. My master was beginning to seem a bit troubled by their endless demands for more, more!
I was a knight, and my most basic job was to protect my master. Just as I thought she was about to seek my help, there was a sudden hiccup. My master, still harassed by children pulling on her clothes and her hair, froze.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "How dare you tell such an obvious lie in the church!"
"I exchange the money of now for the money of the future, so I'm a money changer." His expression still didn't change, but for the first time, his words carried some force.
The women all fell suddenly silent, as though doused in cold water, and it took some time before the strength came back to their gazes.
"That's all I had to say. Now then, if you'll excuse me." His final smile was of a piece with the smiles of all who make their living in trade.
A strange exhaustion lingered, as though a storm had blown itself out in the room. The women held their breath until Johan's footsteps disappeared.
"W-well, anyhow, if you've come looking for work, you're very welcome here. Kuskov will surely recover."
"Yes, yes! Just having more people to make the town lively again is a great help."
Perhaps because this treatment was so different from Ars's attitude, my master was a bit worried, but once she understood that the women were not lying to her, a smile gradually returned to her face.
It was the smile of one who had spent many days in the field finally catching sight of a town.
When I looked up at my master's face, she nodded with a smile.
That night, we returned to the inn.
"What a busy day," said my master as she stroked my back with her bare feet.
How right she was.
Certainly it had been more stimulating than herding sheep.
***
The next day, our breakfast was a very lively one.
The brave little knights that had survived the plague gathered in our room and listened fervently to my master's stories. It was not certain whether or not one of the women my master had spoken to in the church the previous day had spread the word she was perfectly suited to caring for children, but in any case, when the innkeeper had come to bring breakfast, the children were right behind her.
But perhaps because she felt she owed a debt for staying at the inn, my master invited them into her room with nary a pause, sharing her small breakfast with them and telling tales, both myths and stories from her travels.
I was a bit exasperated with my master's strong sense of duty, but I endured the little knights' rather rude treatment of me without any complaint. I was rather impressed with my own forbearance, honestly, and eventually I noticed that my master's stories had diverted their attention from me.
The youngest wound up on my master's lap and eventually fell asleep. On either side of her presently were slightly larger children, who clung to her clothing and looked up at her, totally absorbed in her story.
My master's face was uncharacteristically mild, and even when she had to quiet a fussing child or soothe the tears of one who'd misunderstood her stories, she did so happily. She seemed nearly overwhelmed a few times but has also matured quite a bit herself. Knowing as I did that my master had been driven around by her shepherd's staff more than she'd wielded it herself, I couldn't help but find this rather affecting.
And of course, it seemed more natural for my human master to be surrounded by human children. Although there was not much difference between the ability to communicate with them and with me.
"...And they lived happily ever after!" As she finished the story, there was a collective sigh of relief from the children. They'd all been rather absorbed in it, apparently.
Still, it wouldn't take much for them to become even more savage than I. If you gave them something to eat, they would stuff themselves fit to burst—which was even more true when it came to stories, since no matter how many they heard, their appetite never lessened. My master was beginning to seem a bit troubled by their endless demands for more, more!
I was a knight, and my most basic job was to protect my master. Just as I thought she was about to seek my help, there was a sudden hiccup. My master, still harassed by children pulling on her clothes and her hair, froze.
| "...Waaaaaaaaaah!"
The astonishing noise dizzied me. My master flailed haplessly in the face of the screaming child.
Lambs are easy—they can walk the moment they're born. But human children are different.
Though my master frantically tried to calm the child, its intense screams drowned everything else out.
What had happened? Even I was starting to worry.
"Ha-ha, here, miss, let me help!"
These same children had moments earlier been grabbing shamelessly at my master's hair and clothing, as selfishly as any barnyard animal. They giggled as they spoke, then took the infant from my master's lap. The children were not much larger than the infant. And yet somehow, they had no trouble holding it and quieting it.
They seemed quite adept at the skill, and when I looked at my master, I saw that she, too, was round-eyed with surprise.
The infant was finally calmed, happily poking at the chest of the child who held it. The remaining children followed after him, looking for all the world like a flock of chickens. The only thing that indeed did distinguish them from chickens was how they turned and waved to my master on their way out of the room.
It had been so noisy just moments earlier, but now it was suddenly silent, and all that remained was a strange feeling of fatigue. My master stared blankly at the left-open door for a while.
Eventually she returned to the present, and the next thing she did was put her hand to her chest. If I had been human, I would have laughed.
Something seemed to occur to her, and she looked down at her chest, then over to me. The smile that played about her lips was a wicked one.
She stood from her chair and walked over to me, then crouched down. "You were laughing at me, weren't you?"
Absurd! Preposterous!
I looked away, but she showed me no mercy. She pushed me over onto my back, and as I lay there, she began to rub my belly.
I was a proud sheepdog, but where I could impose my will upon sheep, I could not so easily control my own instincts. In the moments that followed I was thoroughly reminded just who was the master here.
"Still, what shall we do next?" said my master suddenly, as with a borrowed needle and thread she attended to the mending of her clothes. "It was nice of those ladies to give me such a kind welcome, I suppose."
She cut the thread with her teeth and held the mended patch up high to confirm that the hole was properly closed and that the stitching was neat. As my master moved, the loosely packed straw mattress shifted. I went along with it, as I was lying upon it.
I yawned; the back of my neck was stroked.
"We can't very well stay here imposing, but...it would be nice if some sort of work came up, until the town calms down a bit."
Had she not been perfectly suited to caring for children? I thought, and evidently the same thing occurred to her.
"I can't make any money just looking after children, though..."
It was probably a fair point since she couldn't be a wet nurse. Cows and goats were useful for their milk. She couldn't very well produce wool, nor (obviously) meat—so her future was dim.
Without me, she would have been in a precarious position indeed.
"Enek?" My master looked at me with a smile, needle in hand, her head cocked slightly. I realized that this was what it was like to feel totally paralyzed. I couldn't help but curl up my tail. She nudged my head. "I thought I'd be able to find work as a seamstress here, but..."
She held up the mended coat one more time, then clasped it to her chest and fell backward onto the bed. Seeing this, I slowly raised my head, only to rest it on her stomach. She seemed a bit surprised by this, but then gently placed her left hand atop my head.
Previously, whenever she had been unable to sleep from hunger, she would have me lay my head on her stomach to compress it slightly. Humans were surprisingly simple creatures, and such a trick evidently made the hunger easier to bear.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "...Waaaaaaaaaah!"
The astonishing noise dizzied me. My master flailed haplessly in the face of the screaming child.
Lambs are easy—they can walk the moment they're born. But human children are different.
Though my master frantically tried to calm the child, its intense screams drowned everything else out.
What had happened? Even I was starting to worry.
"Ha-ha, here, miss, let me help!"
These same children had moments earlier been grabbing shamelessly at my master's hair and clothing, as selfishly as any barnyard animal. They giggled as they spoke, then took the infant from my master's lap. The children were not much larger than the infant. And yet somehow, they had no trouble holding it and quieting it.
They seemed quite adept at the skill, and when I looked at my master, I saw that she, too, was round-eyed with surprise.
The infant was finally calmed, happily poking at the chest of the child who held it. The remaining children followed after him, looking for all the world like a flock of chickens. The only thing that indeed did distinguish them from chickens was how they turned and waved to my master on their way out of the room.
It had been so noisy just moments earlier, but now it was suddenly silent, and all that remained was a strange feeling of fatigue. My master stared blankly at the left-open door for a while.
Eventually she returned to the present, and the next thing she did was put her hand to her chest. If I had been human, I would have laughed.
Something seemed to occur to her, and she looked down at her chest, then over to me. The smile that played about her lips was a wicked one.
She stood from her chair and walked over to me, then crouched down. "You were laughing at me, weren't you?"
Absurd! Preposterous!
I looked away, but she showed me no mercy. She pushed me over onto my back, and as I lay there, she began to rub my belly.
I was a proud sheepdog, but where I could impose my will upon sheep, I could not so easily control my own instincts. In the moments that followed I was thoroughly reminded just who was the master here.
"Still, what shall we do next?" said my master suddenly, as with a borrowed needle and thread she attended to the mending of her clothes. "It was nice of those ladies to give me such a kind welcome, I suppose."
She cut the thread with her teeth and held the mended patch up high to confirm that the hole was properly closed and that the stitching was neat. As my master moved, the loosely packed straw mattress shifted. I went along with it, as I was lying upon it.
I yawned; the back of my neck was stroked.
"We can't very well stay here imposing, but...it would be nice if some sort of work came up, until the town calms down a bit."
Had she not been perfectly suited to caring for children? I thought, and evidently the same thing occurred to her.
"I can't make any money just looking after children, though..."
It was probably a fair point since she couldn't be a wet nurse. Cows and goats were useful for their milk. She couldn't very well produce wool, nor (obviously) meat—so her future was dim.
Without me, she would have been in a precarious position indeed.
"Enek?" My master looked at me with a smile, needle in hand, her head cocked slightly. I realized that this was what it was like to feel totally paralyzed. I couldn't help but curl up my tail. She nudged my head. "I thought I'd be able to find work as a seamstress here, but..."
She held up the mended coat one more time, then clasped it to her chest and fell backward onto the bed. Seeing this, I slowly raised my head, only to rest it on her stomach. She seemed a bit surprised by this, but then gently placed her left hand atop my head.
Previously, whenever she had been unable to sleep from hunger, she would have me lay my head on her stomach to compress it slightly. Humans were surprisingly simple creatures, and such a trick evidently made the hunger easier to bear.
| "Mmmmm-hmmm..."
A strange sound reached my ears; my master was humming. It was a work song sung by the clothiers of Ruvinheigen. The men would sing it deliberately comically, while the women's voices were lovely. With worktables protruding into the street or from behind opened window shutters, they would sing as they worked. With my master's meager income, she could hardly afford to let others do her mending, and after so many times passing through the crafters' district, she had memorized the song's melody. She didn't know the lyrics and also didn't seem to quite know how it ended.
But sometimes—like now—she would softly, faintly hum the song as she daydreamed. Perhaps she only hummed it while lying back and looking up at the sky, because she didn't want the tears to spill out of her eyes.
I might not look it, but I have a bit of a poet's soul, so such things occur to me.
When she raised her head and looked at me, my master was not crying. But I could tell what she was seeing with those eyes. It was the happy, busy street of the crafters.
They all seemed to know each other, and though they were boisterous, they were likewise friendly; and so, whenever my master saw their simple, honest lives, she looked like a child enviously gazing at another child's toy. I did not much like to see her that way.
And yet, our days had been constantly difficult then. I had no right to blame her for occasionally showing weakness. The thing I wanted her to stop most of all was her absentminded pulling of my fur and skin. Eventually she became so absorbed in the song that she was tapping out the time by patting my head.
Around the time I had become a musical instrument, I heard somebody on the other side of the door.
I sat up suddenly, and my master glared at me for disrupting her performance. My irritation at this vanished when I saw her face turn confused at the knock at the door that came next.
"Oh, I'm sorry, were you asleep?" It was the innkeeper woman who'd brought the children with her in the morning.
"Oh n-no, I—thank you for lending me a needle!" Hurriedly smoothing her bed-rumpled hair, my master hastily offered the needle back to the innkeeper. My guess was that the woman was smiling not at my master's mussed hair, but rather her tuneless humming. But as a knight it was my duty not to point that out.
"A messenger came a moment ago. Apparently the bishop wishes to speak with you."
My master's hands froze where they were smoothing her hair, and she looked at me. "The bishop?"
"He seems to have finished his morning duties. You weren't able to speak to him yesterday, were you?"
My master nodded, and she hurriedly put on the coat she'd just finished mending.
"Oh, if you do see you bishop, please ask him to pray for my inn. We've been busy, and I haven't been able to ask him myself."
She was every bit as brazen as she looked. But there were advantages to being approachable.
We quickly finished making ready, and then put the inn behind us. We only just arrived here yesterday, but already my master had learned the streets well enough to walk them confidently.
"I wonder what he wants to talk to me about. Oh, but first I must thank him! An 'angel,' eh?"
My master giggled and put her finger to her chin as she talked to herself, which was a common habit among those who lived solitary lives, although her smile was shamefully obvious. She was clearly pleased to have been called an angel the previous day.
But the fact that she was absorbed in forward-thinking daydreams was no doubt due to the town's influence. The town had seemed so lonely yesterday, simply because we had been comparing it to Ruvinheigen, the dust of whose streets we'd only just kicked off our feet. But with a little more time, it was clear from the townspeople and their lives that this town had a liveliness to it yet.
|
Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can. | "Mmmmm-hmmm..."
A strange sound reached my ears; my master was humming. It was a work song sung by the clothiers of Ruvinheigen. The men would sing it deliberately comically, while the women's voices were lovely. With worktables protruding into the street or from behind opened window shutters, they would sing as they worked. With my master's meager income, she could hardly afford to let others do her mending, and after so many times passing through the crafters' district, she had memorized the song's melody. She didn't know the lyrics and also didn't seem to quite know how it ended.
But sometimes—like now—she would softly, faintly hum the song as she daydreamed. Perhaps she only hummed it while lying back and looking up at the sky, because she didn't want the tears to spill out of her eyes.
I might not look it, but I have a bit of a poet's soul, so such things occur to me.
When she raised her head and looked at me, my master was not crying. But I could tell what she was seeing with those eyes. It was the happy, busy street of the crafters.
They all seemed to know each other, and though they were boisterous, they were likewise friendly; and so, whenever my master saw their simple, honest lives, she looked like a child enviously gazing at another child's toy. I did not much like to see her that way.
And yet, our days had been constantly difficult then. I had no right to blame her for occasionally showing weakness. The thing I wanted her to stop most of all was her absentminded pulling of my fur and skin. Eventually she became so absorbed in the song that she was tapping out the time by patting my head.
Around the time I had become a musical instrument, I heard somebody on the other side of the door.
I sat up suddenly, and my master glared at me for disrupting her performance. My irritation at this vanished when I saw her face turn confused at the knock at the door that came next.
"Oh, I'm sorry, were you asleep?" It was the innkeeper woman who'd brought the children with her in the morning.
"Oh n-no, I—thank you for lending me a needle!" Hurriedly smoothing her bed-rumpled hair, my master hastily offered the needle back to the innkeeper. My guess was that the woman was smiling not at my master's mussed hair, but rather her tuneless humming. But as a knight it was my duty not to point that out.
"A messenger came a moment ago. Apparently the bishop wishes to speak with you."
My master's hands froze where they were smoothing her hair, and she looked at me. "The bishop?"
"He seems to have finished his morning duties. You weren't able to speak to him yesterday, were you?"
My master nodded, and she hurriedly put on the coat she'd just finished mending.
"Oh, if you do see you bishop, please ask him to pray for my inn. We've been busy, and I haven't been able to ask him myself."
She was every bit as brazen as she looked. But there were advantages to being approachable.
We quickly finished making ready, and then put the inn behind us. We only just arrived here yesterday, but already my master had learned the streets well enough to walk them confidently.
"I wonder what he wants to talk to me about. Oh, but first I must thank him! An 'angel,' eh?"
My master giggled and put her finger to her chin as she talked to herself, which was a common habit among those who lived solitary lives, although her smile was shamefully obvious. She was clearly pleased to have been called an angel the previous day.
But the fact that she was absorbed in forward-thinking daydreams was no doubt due to the town's influence. The town had seemed so lonely yesterday, simply because we had been comparing it to Ruvinheigen, the dust of whose streets we'd only just kicked off our feet. But with a little more time, it was clear from the townspeople and their lives that this town had a liveliness to it yet.
| She clasped her hands behind her as she walked, which I had only seen her doing before in dark alleyways, copying the way the town girls in Ruvinheigen held themselves. It spoke of the way she was enjoying herself on her own terms, unconcerned with the gazes of others.
It seemed a good thing to me. So when I noticed him, I sighed to myself, then rumbled a growl.
"Ah—" My master could spot a wolf hiding in wooded shadows from a hill at a good remove: She quickly noticed what I was growling at.
At the end of her gaze, leaning against a door and speaking with a stout woman under a building's eaves, was a young man. It was the young moneylender—Johan, he'd said his name was.
"What should we do?" my master asked, turning to me. Then—
"Hey, you there!" he called.
We had no quibble with Johan, but we knew perfectly well his profession was despised in the town. And in fact, simply being acknowledged by Johan earned my master a suspicious look from the woman.
But Johan seemed to notice this look and whispered something in the woman's ear, whereupon her expression changed to surprise, and she looked back at us, putting her hands together and offering us a prayer.
Johan then gave us a proud look, as though showing off his handiwork.
I looked up at my master and saw that she wore an exhausted, pained smile.
"What a fortunate encounter! This must be God's will," said Johan, jingling the small coins in his hand as he walked toward us. He then tucked the coins away beneath his jacket and took out a small Church amulet that he wore around his neck, lightly kissing it.
It was such an absurd affectation that my master did not know how to reply, but it was clear enough to me that this was Johan's idea of a joke. This man was the sort of person who would happily sell the Church if it would turn him a profit.
"H-hello again."
"Good day to you! And to your little knight, too."
I gave him a nasty look.
Johan recoiled slightly but soon recovered. "Come, let us walk," he said, casually taking up the position at my master's other side. "So, Miss Norah—"
At Johan's sudden use of her name, my master's shoulders froze. When had she introduced herself to him?
Johan raised both hands and made a jesting face. "My apologies," he said gently. "After all those children went running home with smiles on their faces, news about you spread quickly."
It was a small town.
I sniffed at a scrap of fabric in the street, then looked up.
"Did you do that sort of work in other towns, Miss Norah?" he asked with a personable smile. His appearance was smart and his demeanor gentle—young women were surely constantly after him in more normal times.
But my master did not live such a fickle life.
She could sense something unpleasant lurking behind Johan's words and drew her chin in, repulsed.
"It was a jest. I didn't intend to tease you. But this town is my territory, you see. I wanted to see what sort of person you were."
Johan took my master's hand and gazed at it appraisingly for a moment before slowly releasing it.
My fangs were demanding to know when they'd be allowed to plunge themselves into his leg, but suddenly my master put her hand on my head. Wait, it meant.
"You're a shepherd, aren't you?"
I heard the rustling of cloth, which may as well have been the sound of my master closing her heart. I looked up and saw that she was as expressionless as a statue in a field as she looked back at Johan. That solid, trustworthy, reliable face of hers.
Johan seemed to catch wind of the incompatibility of that face with other humans. He smirked an unpleasant smirk, then smoothly turned his gaze elsewhere. He folded his hands together behind his head, then deliberately strode off.
"I thought you might be, but I just wasn't certain."
My master did not reply.
Johan continued, unconcerned. "The sheep around here are raised by farmers. So long as you don't tell anyone yourself, your secret will be safe."
|
Subsets and Splits