Spice & Wolf Vol.2 Chapter 2

The rolling hills ended, replaced by undulations in the landscape that barely rated the term, which made for easy traveling.

Lawrence hadn’t yet shaken the effects of the previous night’s wine, so the easy road suited him just fine.

With a companion to partake of the fine wine and food, he had overindulged. If he’d had to navigate a mountain trail in his current state, he would likely have tumbled straight to the bottom of the valley.

But here, there wasn’t so much as a river, let alone a valley, so Lawrence could safely leave the horse to simply follow the road.

Occasionally he would nod off for a brief moment, and in the wagon bed Holo was sound asleep, snoring away without a care in the world. Every time Lawrence started awake, he thanked God for such peaceful times.

After passing many quiet hours this way, Holo finally stirred herself awake just past noon. She rubbed her eyes, her face still clearly bearing the marks of whatever she had slept against.

She hauled herself up to the driver’s seat and gulped some water from a water-skin, a blank expression on her face. Happily, she did not seem hungover. Had she been, Lawrence might have had

to stop the wagon — otherwise, she might wind up vomiting in the wagon bed, an outcome that didn’t bear thinking about.

“’Tis good weather today,” said Holo.

“It is.”

The two exchanged lazy pleasantries, then both yawned hugely.

The road that they were on was one of the major northbound trade routes, so they encountered many other travelers while following it. Among them were merchants flying flags of countries so far away that Tawrence only knew of them from import receipts. Holo saw the flags and seemed to think they were simply advertising the merchant’s home country, but generally the small flags were displayed so that merchants from the same nation could identify a fellow countryman should he pass. Generally such encounters would give way to exchanges of news from the old country. Arriving in a foreign land, where the language, food, and dress were all different, could lead even a constantly traveling merchant to homesickness.

Lawrence explained this to Holo, who then gazed at the small flags of passing merchants, deep in thought.

Holo had left her homeland hundreds of years ago, and her desire to speak to someone from her birthplace was stronger than any traveling merchant’s homesickness.

“Ah, well, I’ll be back soon enough, eh?” she declared with a smile, but there was a touch of loneliness in it.

It seemed to Lawrence that he should have some response to this, but none came to mind, and as he drove the horse along the road, the afternoon sun made the thought hazy in his mind.

There was nothing finer than warm sunlight in the cool season.

But the stillness was soon shattered.

Just as Lawrence and Holo started to doze off in the driver’s seat, Holo spoke abruptly.

“Hey.”

.. Mm?”

“There is a group of people.”

“What’d you say?” Lawrence asked as he scrambled to grab the reins, his sleepiness gone in an instant. He narrowed his eyes and looked ahead into the distance.

Despite the slight undulations in the road, the generally flat terrain offered a good view ahead.

But Lawrence saw nothing. He looked to Holo, who now stood, staring forward intently.

“They are certainly there. I wonder what happened.”

“Are they carrying weapons?”

There were only a few ways to explain a group of people on a trade road. Lawrence hoped for a large caravan of merchants, a column of pilgrims all visiting the same destination, or a member of the nobility visiting a foreign country.

But there were other, less-pleasant possibilities.

They could be bandits, rogues, hungry soldiers returning home, or mercenaries. Encountering returning soldiers or mercenaries might mean giving up everything he owned —if he was lucky. His life could well be forfeit.

What would happen to his female companion went without saying.

“I… do not see any weapons. They don’t seem to be annoying soldiers, at any rate.”

“You’ve encountered soldiers?” asked Lawrence, slightly surprised.

“They had long, sharp spears, which made them quite a bother. Though they couldn’t keep up with my wits,” Holo said so proudly that Lawrence didn’t venture to ask what had happened to the unlucky mercenaries.

“There’s… no one about, yes?” Holo looked around quickly, then pulled her hood back, and exposed her wolf ears.

Her pointed ears were the same brown as her tail, and like her tail, they expressed her mood so effectively that they were a good way to tell when she was (for example) lying.

Those same ears pricked forward intently.

Holo’s attitude was every inch the wolf searching out its prey.

Lawrence had encountered such a wolf once before.

It had been a dark, windy night. Lawrence had been following a road across a plain, and by the time he heard the first howl, he was already within the wolves’ territory. Baying sounded from every direction, when he realized he was surrounded, and the horse that pulled his wagon was half-mad with fear.

Just then, Lawrence caught sight of a single wolf.

Its posture was fearless as it had looked straight at Lawrence, its ears so keenly fixed upon him that he was sure it could hear him breathe. He had known that forcing his way free from the wolves’ snare would be impossible, so he immediately took out a leather bag and, making sure the wolf could see, dumped all the meat, bread, and other provisions he had onto the ground. Then he urged his horse onward, the wolf watching him all the while.

He could feel the beast’s gaze on his back for some time, but eventually the howls seemed to cluster around the food he had dropped, and he escaped unscathed.

Lawrence would never forget that wolf. And at this moment, Holo looked just like it.

“Hmm… seems there’s some kind of to-do,” said Holo, bringing Lawrence out of his reverie; he shook his head to clear it.

“Is there a market I’ve forgotten about?” said Lawrence. Roadside meetings to exchange information and advance trade were not unheard of.

“I wonder. It doesn’t smell of a fight. That’s for sure.”

Holo pulled her hood back over her head and sat down.

Lawrence was preoccupied with driving the cart as she regarded him with an expression that said, “So what shall we do?”

The merchant was deep in thought as he visualized a map of the area.

Lawrence knew he had to get the arms in his wagon bed to the Church city of Ruvinheigen. He had signed a contract to that effect with a company in Ruvinheigen. If he detoured now, he would have to backtrack along a very roundabout route — the only other roads were so poor as to be passable only on foot. “You don’t smell any blood, do you?” asked Lawrence.

Holo shook her head decisively.

“Let’s go, then. The detour is a bit too far.”

“And even if they should be mercenaries, you have me,” said Holo, pulling out the leather pouch filled with wheat that hung from her neck. A better bodyguard didn’t exist.

Lawrence smiled trustingly as he drove the horse down the road.

“So, to detour around here, take the path of Saint Lyne?”

“No, it’s surely shorter to take the road that crosses the plains to Mitzheim.”

“Anyway, is that talk about the mercenary band true?”

“Buy this cloth, won’t you? I’ll take salt in exchange.”

“Anyone here speak Parcian? I think this guy’s got a problem!” Lawrence and Holo caught snatches of conversation as they reached the throng of people.

Some of the people stopped in the road were recognizable at a glance as merchants. Others were artisans from different lands on pilgrimages to improve their skills.

Some walked; others traveled by wagon or carriage. Some led donkeys loaded with bundles of straw. Conversation was everywhere, and those who didn’t share a common language gesticulated wildly in efforts to make themselves understood.

Getting into a confrontation because of a language barrier is a terrifyingly unforgettable experience — all the more so when you happen to be carrying your entire fortune with you.

Sadly, Lawrence didn’t understand the man, either. He empathized, but there was nothing he could do, and he didn’t know what the precise problem was anyway.

Lawrence glanced at Holo — a sign that she should stay quietly sitting in the driver’s seat — and hopped out of the wagon, hailing a nearby merchant.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“Hm? Oh, a fellow traveler. Have you just arrived?”

“Yes, from Poroson. But what’s going on here? Surely the local earl hasn’t decided to open a market here.”

“Hah! Nay, were that so, we’d all have mats spread on the ground and be trading the day away. In truth, there’s tell of a mercenary band crossing the road to Ruvinheigen. So we’re all stopped here.”

The merchant wore a turban and loose, baggy pants. The man had a heavy mantle wrapped about his neck and large knapsack slung over his back. Judging by his heavy clothes, the merchant frequented the heart of the northlands.

The dust of the road lingered on his snow-burned face. The many wrinkles and the tanned leather pallor of his skin were proof of a long life as a traveling merchant.

“A mercenary band? I know General Rastuille’s group patrols these parts.”

“No, they were flying crimson flags with a hawk device upon them.”

Lawrence knitted his brow. “The Heinzberg Mercenary Band?”

“Oh ho. I see you’ve traveled the northlands. Indeed, they say it’s the Hawks of Heinzberg — I’d sooner run into bandits than them when carrying a full load of goods.”

It was said that the Hawks of Heinzberg were so hungry for wealth that wherever they passed, not so much as a single turnip leaf would be left behind if they thought it could be sold. They had made their name in the northlands, and if they were on the road ahead, trying to pass it would be suicidal.

The Heinzberg mercenaries were reputed to spot their prey faster than a hawk on the wing. They would be upon a lazily traveling merchant in an instant, surely.

However — mercenaries acted purely out of self-interest, and in that sense, they were not far from merchants. Essentially, when they behaved strangely, there was often something similarly unexpected happening in the marketplace.

For example, a sharp jump or drop in the price of goods.

Being a merchant, Lawrence was naturally pessimistic, but pessimism would get him nowhere, he knew—he was already on the road, loaded with goods. All that mattered now was how he would get to Ruvinheigen.

“So it seems taking a long detour is the only course,” said Lawrence.

“Most probably. Apparently there’s a new road to Ruvinheigen that heads olf from the road to Kaslata, but it’s been on the unsafe side lately, I hear.”

Lawrence had not been in this region for half a year, so this was the first he had heard of a new road. He seemed to recall that on the northern side of the plains that stretched out, there was an eerie forest that was the source of constant unpleasant rumors.

“Unsafe?” he asked. “Unsafe how?”

“Well, there have always been wolves in the plains, but it’s been especially bad lately, they say. There’s a story going around that an entire caravan was taken two weeks ago —and the wolves were summoned by a pagan sorcerer.”

Lawrence then remembered that the unpleasant rumors were mainly of wolves. He realized Holo was probably listening in on this conversation and stole a glance at her. A smile danced around the corners of her mouth.

“How do you get to this new road?”

“Hah, you’re going to go? You’re quite the rash one. Take this road straight, then turn right when it forks. Keep going for quite a while, then it will split again, and you bear left. Though peacefully whiling away two or three days here should be all right. It’d take but five minutes to tell if the mercenaries really are there, but by the time you saw them, it’d be too late. The merchants with fish or meat will have to head to a different city, but I’ll play it safe.” Lawrence nodded and looked back to the contents of his own wagon. Fortunately his cargo was in no danger of spoiling, but he still wanted to sell it in Ruvinheigen.

He pondered silently for a moment, then gave his thanks to the other merchant, and returned to the wagon.

Holo had behaved herself, but once Lawrence sat down in the driver’s seat, she started giggling. “Summoned, eh?”

“So, what is Holo the Wisewolf’s take on this?”

“Hm?”

“The wolves in the plains,” Lawrence clarified as he took up the reins and mulled over the question at hand — to go or not to go.

“Mm,” sniffed Holo, idly biting her little fingernail with a sharp fang. “I think they’d be more interesting than humans. At the very least, we’ll be able to talk.”

It was a good joke.

“That decides it, then.” Lawrence flicked the reins and turned the wagon around, heading down the road and away from the chattering merchants.

A few of them saw and raised their voice in surprise, but most simply took off their hats or capes and waved.

“Good luck,” their gestures said.

There was no merchant that would shy away from a dangerous bridge — if across that dangerous bridge waited a larger profit.

The news of a mercenary band traveling the roads would spread faster than a plague. Such was the threat that they posed.

But for a merchant, time was an indispensable tool. Wasting it always led to loss.

This is why Lawrence decided that with Holo along, he would risk traveling the plains, despite the rumors of wolves.

The stories of a nearby mercenary band would surely have an impact on the Ruvinheigen market, and Lawrence meant to take advantage of that to make a nice bit of pocket money. At first he’d jumped to the assumption that things had taken a turn for the worse, but in reality, it was just the opposite.

And in any case, unexpected developments were part and parcel of the life of a traveling merchant — that’s what made it fun.

“You certainly seem happy,” remarked a bemused Holo.

“I suppose” was Lawrence’s short reply.

The road ahead led to profit, the watchword of the traveling merchant.

They arrived at the plains in question before noon the next day.

There were times when new trade routes naturally occurred, and other times when the powers that be in the region created them. Sometimes grass was cleared to make the road, but in extreme cases, gravel would be laid, then topped with wooden planks, allowing carts to cross the terrain at relatively high speeds.

Such roads did not come cheaply, of course, and tolls to use them were high, but since robbers along these roads were dealt with harshly, the price was a good value in terms of time and safety.

The road ahead, with its rumors of wolf appearances, was somewhere between the two types.

A sign had been erected, indicating the destination of the road that now branched off. There at the fork was a pile of weatherbeaten planks, as if there had once been a plan to build something at this junction. Perhaps the builders had intended to collect a toll to maintain the road well, but now all that remained was that one lonely sign.

The junction sat atop a small hill, and from its crest, one could see down the road as far as one cared to. This seemed like a good spot for lunch. Despite the approaching winter, the grass was still quite green, and Lawrence could look out across plains that he would have rushed to pasture his sheep upon were he a shepherd.

All that was left of the road that cut through the plains was a pair of wagon tracks, mostly overgrown with grass. Naturally, there were no other travelers.

According to Lawrence’s mental map, the forest to the north of this road was the most suitable spot for the wolves to make their home, but it was hardly true that all wolves lived in forests. In the distance stood patches of tall grass, and this looked more and more like an ideal plain for wolves.

Lawrence could guess that much without asking Holo, but he went ahead and consulted her anyway.

“What do you think? Any wolves about?”

Holo, who was in the process of devouring a piece of dried mutton, gave Lawrence an exasperated look. “We wolves are hardly so foolish as to be spotted from a place with such an obviously good vantage,” she said, sniffing with disdain. Her fangs occasionally showed as she chewed the meat, revealing her nonhuman nature.

Holo’s statement and her fangs brought her essential wolf nature to the forefront of Lawrence’s mind, and he considered complications.

If they did encounter wolves, the situation would become problematic.

“It should be well, though. Should we happen into a pack, we’ll just throw them some jerky. We wolves don’t get into pointless fights, after all.”

Lawrence nodded and snapped the reins to start across the plains; the gentle breeze smelled faintly of wild beasts. Lawrence murmured a quiet prayer for safe travels.

“Afaram silver piece.”

“Nope. It’s a counterfeit marinne.”

“Wait, was not the counterfeit marinne this one?”

“No, that’s a piece of late Radeon bishopry silver.”

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Holo fell silent, holding several pieces of silver in her hand.

Lawrence was teaching her the names of various currencies as a way to combat boredom, but even Holo the Wisewolf struggled with coins whose size and design were so similar.

“Well, you’ll pick it up as you use them, no doubt,” said Lawrence.

Holo was so serious that Lawrence was afraid to tease her, but his effort to be considerate only seemed to hurt her pride even more. She glared up at him, her ears flicking angrily under her hood.

“Once more, then!” she said.

“All right, from the top.”

“Mm.”

“Trenni silver, phiring silver, ryut silver, fake marinne silver, faram silver, bald king Landbard silver, Mitzfing temple silver, fake Mitzfing temple silver, Saint Mitzfing silver, Miztfingmas silver, and this one is..

.. W-wait, now.”

“Hm?”

Lawrence looked up from Holo’s palm, where he’d been pointing at the various coins. Her expression was complicated — angry and on the verge of tears.

“Y-you’re making sport of me,” she said.

Lawrence remembered accusing his own teacher of the same thing, when he’d had to learn the names of all the different currencies — so without thinking, he laughed.

“Rrrrrr.”

Holo growled and flashed her fangs, and Lawrence quickly composed himself. “The Mitzfing diocese in particular issues a lot of coin. I’m not teasing you, truly.”

“Then don’t laugh,” Holo grumbled, looking back down at the coins. Lawrence couldn’t help but smile.

“Anyway,” Holo continued, “why are there so many coins? It seems such a bother.”

“They’re made when a new nation is established — or collapses. A powerful regional lord or church can issue coin, and of course, there’s no end to counterfeiting. Even the ryut silver started out as a fake trenni piece, but it was so widely used it became an independent currency.”

“But when pelts were used, you always knew what you were dealing with,” said Holo, sniffing and then finally heaving a sigh of irritation. She might be able to tell the coins apart by scent, but Lawrence didn’t know how serious she was about it.

“Still, it’s a good way to kill time, eh?” he offered.

Without so much as a smile, Holo thrust the collection of coins back into Lawrence’s hands. “Hmph. Enough. ’Tis time for a nap.” Holo stood, ignoring Lawrence’s pained smile. He spoke to her as she made her way to the wagon bed.

“Even napping, you’ll know if wolves come near?”

“Of course I shall.”

“It’ll be a hassle if we’re surrounded.”

To be cornered by mercenaries or bandits was, of course, troubling, but at least they could be reasoned with. Wolves, on the other hand, cared little for human words. One never knew what might cause them to attack.

Even with Holo at his side, Lawrence was uneasy.

“You worry excessively,” said Holo, turning around with a grin, perhaps sensing his concern. “Most animals are quite aware, be they sleeping or awake. ’Tis only you humans who are defenseless in slumber.”

“You’d be more convincing if you snored less.”

Holo’s face hardened at Lawrence’s words. “I do not snore!”

“… Well, it’s not too loud, I suppose,” admitted Lawrence. He found her snoring rather charming, but the furrows in Holo’s brow only deepened.

“I do not snore, I say.”

“Fine, fine,” said Lawrence, chuckling, but Holo came back up to the driver’s seat and leaned close to him.

“I do not.”

“All right! Fine!”

Holo seemed to consider this a question of honor, and Lawrence found her sharp expression irritating. She had constantly gotten the best of him since they’d met, and he realized he was generally used to her treatment.

She seemed to have nothing more to say; her expression sour, she turned her back on Lawrence unceremoniously.

“Still, there really doesn’t seem to be anyone around,” murmured Lawrence casually, smiling to himself at Holo’s antics.

In truth there wasn’t a single soul on the expansive plain, as far as the eye could see.

Even given the rumors of wolves, Lawrence would have expected a few people to be taking the shortcut to Ruvinheigen, but when he looked back, there was no one to be seen.

“Rumors are a powerful force,” said Holo.

Even when her back was sullenly turned, her way of carrying on the conversation was amusing, and Lawrence chuckled in spite of himself. “True enough,” he said with a nod.

“Though it’s not quite true that there’s no one about,” said Holo, her tone slightly different now and her tail switching restlessly underneath her robe.

Then she sighed, bored.

So far, Holo had tended to her tail without alarming the merchants they passed on the road. When Lawrence saw her now deliberately hide it away, he wondered why—and soon had his answer.

“I smell sheep. There will be a shepherd ahead — I so hate shepherds.”

If there were sheep on the plains ahead, there would be shepherds as well. Shepherds were legendary for their ability to detect wolves, and Holo must have known this.

Her small nose wrinkled when she spoke of them, making her distaste entirely evident.

Shepherds and wolves were natural enemies.

But as merchants and wolves were also basically antagonistic, Lawrence kept silent on that point.

“Shall we detour?”

“Nay, it’s them who should run from us. There’s no need for us to move aside.”

Lawrence found himself chuckling at Holo’s displeasure. She glared at him, but he pretended not to notice and looked elsewhere.

“Well, if you say so, we’ll stay the course. The fields suit our wagon quite well.”

Holo nodded silently as Lawrence took up the reins.

The wagon traveled along the thin road through the plains, and at length, white dots that might have been sheep became visible in the distance. Holo’s irritated expression remained.

Lawrence noticed when he stole a glance at her, and the sharpeyed wolf girl seemed to notice.

She sniffed, twisting her lip. “I’ve despised shepherds longer than you’ve been alive. Getting along with them now is impossible,” she said, sighing as she looked down. “There’s all that delicious meat just walking about, but imagine just having to look at it, never tasting it — you’d hate them, too, would you not?”

Her somber tone was amusing, but it was clear that she was in fact very serious, so Lawrence made an effort to keep a straight face as he looked ahead.

They had now gotten close enough to the flock of sheep that Lawrence could tell one from another.

The sheep were grouped closely together, so it was hard to be sure of the precise number, but it was a score, certainly, that roamed lazily across the grass, chewing away placidly.

Of course, it was not only sheep on the plains. Holo’s nemesis, the shepherd, was there as well, accompanied by a sheepdog.

The shepherd wore a robe the color of dry grass, and he had a horn fixed at the waist with a mist-gray sash. He also carried a staff longer than he was tall, with a palm-sized bell affixed to the top.

A black-furred sheepdog paced to and fro about its master, as if keeping guard. Its long fur made it seem like a tongue of black flame as it sprinted across the plains.

It was said that there were two things travelers needed to be careful of when encountering a shepherd on their travels.

The first was not to offend the shepherd. The second was to make sure the shepherd robes did not conceal a demon.

The shepherds, who wandered the vast plains with naught but sheepdogs for company, evoked such strange warnings because their lives were even lonelier than those of traveling merchants — they were often seen as nearly inhuman.

Leading their flocks across the plains alone, controlling the animals with nothing but staff and horn in hand — it was easy to imagine shepherds as some kind of pagan sorcerers.

Some said that meeting a shepherd while traveling ensured protection from accidents for a week, thanks to the spirits of the land — others said that shepherds were demons in disguise, and if you let your guard down, they would imprison your soul within one of the sheep they tended.

For his part, Lawrence found nothing strange in these beliefs. Shepherds were mysterious enough to warrant such ideas.

He raised his hand and waved it thrice in the way that had become ritual for greeting shepherds, and he was relieved to see the shepherd raise and lower his staff four times in the traditional fashion. At the very least, this shepherd was not a ghost.

This first barrier had been cleared, but the real test would come when he got closer and could ascertain whether or not the shepherd was a demon in disguise.

“I am Lawrence, a traveling merchant. This is my companion, Holo,” declared Lawrence by way of introduction once he got close enough to make out the patchwork on the shepherd’s cloak and brought his horse to a stop. The shepherd was rather small of stature, only a bit taller than Holo. While Lawrence talked, the dog that had been rounding up the sheep came trotting over to its master, sitting beside the shepherd like a faithful knight.

Gray eyes tinged with blue steadily scrutinized Lawrence and Holo.

The shepherd was silent.

“I have come by this road and met you by the grace of God, and if you are a good shepherd and true, you’ll be well met.”

A true shepherd would be able to prove himself with the traditional hymn and dance of his kind.

The shepherd nodded slowly and planted his staff directly in front of him.

Lawrence found himself surprised at the shepherd’s small, slender hand, but he was even more surprised at what came next.

“By the blessing of God in the heavens…”

The voice that intoned the shepherd’s hymn was that of a young girl’s.

“By the protection of the spirits of the land…”

Moving her staff with skill, the shepherdess drew an arrow in the dirt with practiced ease and then, starting from the tip of the arrow, inscribed a circle around herself counterclockwise.

“The word of God is carried on the wind, and the blessings of the spirits of the land inhabit the very grass eaten by the lamb.”

Once her circle reached the tip of the arrow, she began to stamp her feet in the earth.

“The lambs are led by the shepherd, and the shepherd by God.”

Finally, she held her staff still, aligned with the tip of the arrow in the earth.

“By the grace of God, the shepherd follows the path of righteousness.”

No matter the country, the shepherd’s hymn was always the same. It was not the habit of shepherds to associate the way craftsmen or merchants did, but it was no exaggeration to say that the hymn and its dance were universal.

It was enough to lend credence to the idea that shepherds could converse across great distances by sending their words on the wind.

“My apologies for doubting you. You surely are a shepherdess,” said Lawrence as he climbed down from the wagon. The shepherd girl’s mouth quirked in a smile. Her hood still obscured much of her face, so it was difficult to be sure, but based on what was visible, she was a beauty.

Even as he remained gentlemanly, Lawrence was filled with curiosity.

Female merchants were rare, but shepherdesses were rarer still. Given that she was also a fetching young lass, a curious merchant could hardly fail to be interested.

However, merchants are completely hopeless at anything outside of the mercantile world.

Lawrence was a fine example of this. Unable to find a topic of conversation beyond their encounter on the road, he suppressed his curiosity and stuck only to the most standard of greetings.

“Having met you by the grace of God, I would have you pray for our safe travels, shepherdess.”

“With pleasure.”

At the sound of the girl’s voice, calm as a grazing sheep, Lawrence’s curiosity grew larger than a summer cloud. He didn’t show it, but it was only with effort that he kept his inquisitiveness hidden. It was not his nature to ask shamelessly personal questions — nor did his nature grant him any gift for smooth talk. As he approached the shepherdess to receive her prayer, he thought of Weiz, the money changer in Pazzio, and envied him his easy way with women.

Added to that was Holo sitting in the wagon — Holo who hated all shepherds.

Somehow, that last fact was the weightiest reason for stifling his curiosity.

As Lawrence considered this, the shepherdess held her staff high to give the prayer for safe travel that had been requested of her.

“Palti, mis, tuero. Le, spinzio, tiratto, cul.”

The ancient words from scripture, used by shepherds in every country no matter what the language, retained their mysterious quality no matter how many times Lawrence heard them.

Shepherds did not know the true meaning of the words, but when praying for safe travels, they always used the same ones as if by some ancient agreement.

The way in which the shepherdess lowered her staff and blew a long note on her horn was also thus.

Lawrence gave his thanks for the prayer of safety and produced a brown copper coin. Copper, rather than gold or silver, was customary as a token of thanks for a shepherd, and it was also traditional for the shepherd not to refuse the token. The girl extended her hand, just slightly larger than Holo’s, and Lawrence thanked her again as he placed the coin in her palm.

Unable to find any reason to continue his conversation with her, Lawrence reluctantly gave up.

“Well, then,” he said, taking his leave — though his feet were slow to move as he tried to return to the wagon.

Unexpectedly, it was the shepherdess who spoke next.

“Er, are you perchance bound for Ruvinheigen?”

Her clear voice was different from Holo’s, and it was hard to imagine that she could be counted among those who chose the harsh life of the shepherd. Lawrence glanced over his shoulder at Holo, who looked off in a different direction. She seemed quite bored.

“Yes, were on our way there from Poroson.”

“How did you come to hear of this path?”

“It’s the pilgrimage road of Saint Metrogius. We heard of it just the other day.”

“I see… Er, have you heard about the wolves, then?”

With these words, Lawrence understood why the girl had gone to the trouble of starting a conversation.

She no doubt took Lawrence for a simple merchant who had chosen this route without any information.

“I have indeed,” he replied. “But I’m in a hurry, so I decided to take the risk.”

There was no need to explain about Holo. For enough profit, any merchant would risk a wolf-infested road so there was no reason for suspicion.

But the shepherdess’s reaction was strange.

She seemed almost disappointed.

“I see…,” she muttered quietly, her shoulders slumping. She had clearly been hoping for something — but what?

Lawrence mulled the conversation over — there were not many possibilities.

Either she had hoped he didn’t know about the wolves or she was in no hurry.

That was all he could guess from their brief exchange.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

Were he not to ask the girl what her troubles were, it would be his failing not as a merchant, but as a man. He put on his most gentlemanly manner and gave her a businesslike smile.

Behind him, Holo was probably quite irritated by now, but he put the thought out of his mind.

“Er, well, um… that is…”

“Anything at all — is there something you need?”

When it came to negotiating, Lawrence was in his element. Selling her something would let him find out more about this rare female shepherd — even fairies were more common. Of course, behind his smile he was trying to work out exactly what he could sell her.

But with her next words, such thoughts evaporated.

“Well, I… I was wondering if you mightn’t… hire me.”

Faced with this shepherdess looking up at him as she held, no, clung to her staff, Lawrence’s mind raced.

When a shepherd asked to be hired, it was equivalent to being asked if you would leave your sheep in their care.

But Lawrence had no sheep. What he did have was a single clever, cheeky wolf.

“Ah, well, as you can see, I’m a merchant, and I don’t trade in sheep. I’m sorry, but..

“Oh, no, not that — ”

Flustered, the girl waved her hands hastily, then glanced from side to side as if to buy herself some time.

Her head was deep enough in the hood that her gaze wasn’t visible, but it was clear that she was looking for something.

Perhaps that something was a tool that would help her explain her request.

Soon it seemed as if she had found it — from underneath her hood, she somehow communicated a sense of relief, almost as if she had expressive ears hidden under there, like Holo.

What the shepherd girl was looking for sat alertly beside her, a four-legged portrait of a faithful knight executed in black fur — her sheepdog.

“I’m a shepherd. Um, I tend my flock, but I can also drive off wolves.”

As she spoke, she waved her right hand slightly, and the black dog stood at attention.

“If you’ll be so good as to hire me, I can protect you and your companion from wolves. Would you consider it?”

As if to punctuate his mistress’s clumsy sales pitch, the dog barked once, then dashed off to round up the flock, which was beginning to disperse.

Though knights or mercenaries were often hired as protection on dangerous roads, Lawrence had never heard of hiring a shepherd to drive off wolves, but now that he thought about it, having a shepherd at your side would give you a keen set of eyes and ears. He’d never heard of such an arrangement, though, because shepherds that would propose such a thing were nonexistent.

Lawrence looked at the dog as it rounded up sheep, as if practicing for possible wolf attacks, then turned back toward the girl.

Living the lonely life of a shepherd, she probably had no occasion to give a fake, ingratiating grin. Under the hood, she smiled awkwardly.

Lawrence thought a moment, then spoke.

“Wait a moment, if you would. I’ll consult with my companion.”

“Th-thank you!”

For his part, Lawrence was ready to hire the girl unconditionally, but hiring the shepherdess meant paying her money, and whenever money was involved, a merchant could think of nothing beyond the possible losses and gains.

Lawrence trotted back to the wagon bed and raised his voice to Holo who lounged there, looking bored. If he wanted to know about a shepherd’s ability to repel wolves, he thought his best bet would be to ask the nearest wolf.

“What do you think of that shepherdess?”

“Hm? Mm…” Holo rubbed her eyes lazily and looked at the girl; Lawrence did likewise. The shepherdess did not return their gaze as she gave orders to her dog.

She didn’t seem to be trying to show off her skills — she was merely rounding up the scattered sheep. Sheep, after all, tended to disperse when they stopped to graze and came closer together when forced to walk.

Holo turned away from the girl and spoke irritably. “I’m far more fetching.”

The horse neighed, as if chuckling.

“Not that — I mean her skills.”

“Skills?”

“What can you tell of her, as a shepherd? If she’s good, she might be worth hiring. You heard us, surely.”

Holo glanced at the girl, then gave Lawrence a bitter glare. “You already have me, do you not?”

“Of course. But it never occurred to me to use a shepherd to drive off wolves. There could be new business in it.”

Holo the Wisewolf could tell when a person was lying. Despite the truth of Lawrence’s statement, she still regarded him with suspicious eyes.

Lawrence soon understood why.

“I’m not being blinded by charm. You are the fairer, after all,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if to add, “Okay?”

“I suppose that’s a passing mark” came the reply. It was a bit harsh being graded like that, but Holo smiled pleasantly, so surely it was a joke.

“So, what of her skill?” he asked.

Holo’s face was instantly tense again. “I cannot say for certain without seeing her in action, but I suppose she’ll be in the top half.”

“Can you be a bit more concrete?”

“I could take a sheep from her. However, normal wolves would be dealt with, even if they attacked together.”

It was an unexpectedly high appraisal.

“Her treatment of the sheep is very proficient. The worst shepherds are the ones with clever dogs who know how to cooperate with them. That one does both, I daresay. Her voice suggests that she’s young, which makes it even worse. Before she gets any more dangerous, I’ve half a mind to — ”

“All right, all right. Thanks.”

Lawrence wasn’t sure whether Holo was joking or not, but the swishing of her tail suggested she was half serious.

It was enough to know that the shepherdess was a good one. If he just provisionally hired her, it would still cost money, which would be wasted if she turned out to be clumsy. Lawrence turned to approach the girl but was stopped short by Holo speaking up.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“Are you really going to hire that?” Holo’s voice had an accusing tone.

Lawrence heard her and remembered that Holo had no love for shepherds.

“Aah. You hate her that much?”

“Well, as long as you’re asking, no, I don’t care for shepherds, but that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about you.”

This was the very definition of being caught off guard.

“… Excuse me?” asked Lawrence with all sincerity, having no idea what Holo meant. Holo sighed in irritation and narrowed her eyes. Her red-tinged amber irises were keen, burning with a cold fire.

“If you’re going to hire her, that means she will be traveling with us for a time. I’m asking you if you have no problem with that.”

Holo’s eyes fixed Lawrence coolly in their gaze.

She sat in the wagon bed and thus looked down on him.

That wasn’t necessarily why, but Lawrence couldn’t shake the feeling that she was very angry with him.

Lawrence frantically thought it through. Holo was furious at him because he was going to hire a shepherd. If it wasn’t because she hated shepherds, there were not many other possibilities he could imagine. The options disappeared one after the other, leaving only one.

Perhaps Holo preferred traveling as a pair, just the two of them.

“You don’t like it?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that” came her quick, sulky reply.

Musing fondly on this peevish side of Holo’s, Lawrence smiled slightly as he spoke. “It’s about two days to Ruvinheigen. No good?”

“… Nor did I say that,” she said, shooting him a glance that he couldn’t help but find charming.

“Well, in that case, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to impose upon your patience,” he said. He smiled openly, unable to resist Holo’s unexpected charm.

Holo knitted her brow. “What exactly am I to endure, then?” she asked.

“Mm, well…,” said Lawrence, hesitating. He couldn’t very well suggest that she was jealous to her face. Once Holo’s contrariness was roused, her opposition would be tireless.

“I’d just like to see how effective a shepherd is against wolves. You can manage for two days, can’t you?”

“… ’Tis not impossible. But that is not the issue.”

“Well…,” Lawrence began, concerned about the shepherdess— but Holo took the opportunity to continue.

“If we travel carelessly with someone else, they might find out about me, might they not? And I could manage, aye, but what about you?”

In those words, Lawrence heard something that made him stiffen. It was not his imagination, nor was it some grandiose thing, and even the shepherdess some distance away cocked her head as she looked on.

Of course. That was it. That was the other possibility. How had he overlooked it? He wished the sudden cold sweat that broke out all over him would wash away his mistake.

Thinking that Holo wanted to travel alone with him had distracted him from the obvious. He’d been presumptuous.

Holo’s gaze bored into the back of his head.

The change in Lawrence’s demeanor was obvious even from a distance, and the ancient wisewolf sitting next to him surely discerned his inner workings.

“Oh ho. I see how it is.”

Lawrence reddened.

“You wanted me to say something like this, mm?”

He turned slowly back to her, facing the wolf girl with an expression that was downright desolate.

Holo put a closed hand to her mouth and spoke with a hesitant, modest tone. “I… I wanted to travel with just you…”

She twisted her body away fetchingly, averting her gaze with mock bashfulness, then looked back at him suddenly. In that brief interval, her expression shifted from demure to cold as she delivered the final blow.

“I jest.”

Lawrence had no reply, and whether from frustration or embarrassment, it was doubtful if he would even be able to remain standing.

Wanting in any case to put some distance between himself and Holo, he turned and began to walk away before he was stopped by her call.

Lawrence looked over his shoulder, wondering if she hadn’t had her fill of tormenting him, and saw Holo smiling there in the wagon bed.

It was an exasperated sort of grin.

He felt better as soon as he saw it.

“Honestly,” he said with a sigh, giving her a rueful smile.

“I doubt I’ll be exposed in two days. Do as you will,” said Holo

with a yawn and looked away as if to say, “This conversation is over.”

Lawrence nodded, then trotted over to the shepherdess.

He had the feeling he’d grown a bit closer to Holo.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Oh, n-not at all. So — ”

“How does forty trie for the trip to Ruvinheigen sound? With a bonus if wolves attack and we make it through safely.”

Lawrence wondered if she would refuse, since the conversation with Holo had wasted some time. The shepherdess’s mouth hung open for a moment, but eventually Lawrence’s words seemed to sink in, and she nodded hastily.

“Y-yes, please!”

“It’s a deal, then,” said Lawrence. He was about to extend his hand to shake, thereby sealing the contract, when he realized he hadn’t asked the girl her name.

“Might I inquire as to your name, miss?”

“Oh, um, my apologies,” said the girl. She seemed not to have realized that her hood was up, and now she hurried to pull it back.

Lawrence had spent a lot of time being humbled in front of Holo lately, and this was a sight for sore eyes.

The face that emerged was soft and meek, not unlike the sheep she tended, with faded, obviously uncombed blond hair tied back into a ponytail. She was slightly bedraggled and underfed, but her eyes were a beautiful dark brown, and on the whole she gave off an honorably impoverished impression.

“It’s N-Norah. Norah Arendt.”

“Again, I’m Kraft Lawrence. I go by Lawrence in business.”

He took Norah’s timidly offered hand and noticed that it — which was just slightly larger that Holo’s — was shaking a

bit. Soon, though, she calmed herself and gripped Lawrence’s hand lightly. Though her hand was small, its roughness marked her unmistakably as a shepherd.

“I’ll be counting on you ’til Ruvinheigen!”

“My thanks,” said Norah.

Her smile was like soft summer grass.

Lawrence had assumed they would only be able to go as fast as the sheep could walk, but he was mistaken.

The sheep were deceptively quick, and when climbing hills, the wagon was easily left behind.

Their baaing was as pastoral as ever, and the flock was like a white thread as it flowed quickly along the land.

Norah, of course, kept up with no difficulty. At the moment the sheep led the way, followed by Norah, who in turn was followed by Lawrence’s wagon.

“Enek!” Norah called out, and like a bolt of black flame, the dark-furred dog came streaking back to his master, leaping into the air, barely able to wait for his next order. No sooner had the bell on Norah’s staff rung than Enek charged off to the head of the group of sheep.

Lawrence didn’t know much about shepherds, but he could tell that Norah’s sheepdog handling was clearly excellent. The rapport she enjoyed with Enek was not gained in a single day.

But Enek did not seem like a young dog. Norah couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen herself, so perhaps her parents had been shepherds and the sheepdog was her inheritance.

His merchant curiosity was obvious.

“So, Norah, you…”

“Yes?”

“Have you been a shepherd long?”

After hearing Lawrence’s question, Norah gave her bell one long ring, then slowed her pace, and came up along the wagon’s right side.

Holo napped along the left edge of the wagon bed.

“Just four years now.”

Since the profession required only that one memorize the hymn, dance, and phrases for blessing travelers who requested it, it was not uncommon to find even young shepherds with ten years’ experience.

Even without a proper staff or sheepdog, one could guide a flock with a piece of dead wood and still be a fine shepherd.

“So your sheepdog — er, Enek, I mean — you trained him yourself?”

“No, I found him.”

It was an unusual answer. A competent sheepdog was a prized possession — it was unthinkable that a shepherd would just let one go.

Lawrence could think of but one scenario. Its former master must have retired, leaving the dog to another.

“I became a shepherd after I found him.”

“And before that?” Lawrence asked without thinking.

“I helped at an almshouse attached to an abbey and in return was allowed to live there.”

It wasn’t polite to pry into someone’s past, but Norah answered smoothly, her feelings apparently unhurt. As a rare female shepherd, perhaps she was used to such questions.

If she had once lived at an almshouse, that suggested she had neither relatives nor inheritance, but now she was a fine shepherdess — the gods did still bless some with luck, it seemed.

“When I was relying on the almshouse, I thought I would never leave such work. It was good fortune meeting Enek.”

“The result of daily prayer, surely.”

“Yes, I can’t help but think that I have God to thank for our meeting.”

Her bell rang out again, and Enek came streaking back to her side.

As the dry sound of Enek’s footfalls reached Lawrence’s ears, Holo stirred, leaning lightly against the inside of the wagon. It seemed true, surely, that she could detect the approach of a wolf even while sleeping.

“I met him after the almshouse had lost its land to a swindling merchant,” said Norah.

It pained Lawrence to hear of a fellow merchant’s misdeeds, but the fact was such things were common.

“When I found him, he was in a sad state, covered in wounds,” continued Norah.

“From wolves?”

Holo seemed to twitch. Perhaps she was only feigning sleep.

“No, I think it was brigands or mercenaries… There weren’t wolves in the area. He was wandering about at the base of a hill with this staff in his mouth.”

«T              »

I see.

Enek barked his pleasure at having his head petted.

Undoubtedly the dog hadn’t been the only one wandering half dead at the foot of that hill. Most of those who were driven from an almshouse would have likely died from hunger. The bond between the girl and dog — they had suffered great hardship together — was no superficial thing.

And the life of a shepherd was lonely and mean. Enek was surely a welcome companion.

Certainly better than the goods Lawrence found himself transporting. Horses, too, were poor conversationalists.

“Still, this is the first time I’ve had a shepherd offer their services as an escort.”

“Hm?”

“Normally they’d refuse such a request, to say nothing of offering work,” he said with a laugh. A flustered Norah looked hastily at the ground.

“Um…” she began.

“What’s that?”

“I just… wanted to talk to someone…”

Apparently her way of clinging to her staff—which was taller than she — was something of a habit.

Still, Lawrence certainly understood her feelings.

Outside of townspeople, those who did not find themselves stricken by loneliness were few.

“Although there is one other thing,” the girl continued. Her demeanor brightened as she looked up. “I’d like to become a dressmaker.”

“Ah, so it’s the guild membership dues you need.”

Norah again seemed embarrassed by Lawrence’s words. Not being a merchant, it appeared she was unused to frank talk about money.

“They’re high nearly everywhere. Though not necessarily so in a new town.”

“Really? Is that true?” Her pretty brown eyes lit up with a frank anticipation that was entirely charming.

It was the fondest wish of most who lived by travel to settle in a town. Such a life was difficult even for an adult man, so the shepherdess must have felt the hardship still more keenly.

“Sometimes the guild dues are free, in newly founded towns.”

“F-free…” whispered Norah with a countenance that betrayed her disbelief.

After days of enduring Holo’s japes, seeing such a guileless face put Lawrence’s heart at ease.

“If we meet any other merchants on the road, you should ask

them if they know of any plans to found new towns in the area. If they know, they’ll probably be happy to tell you.”

Norah nodded, her face shining with good cheer, as if she had been told the whereabouts of some grand treasure.

If such news made her this happy, there was clearly value in telling her.

And there was something about the girl that made him want to help her — something clearly conveyed in the way she worked so hard with her slender arms.

He found himself wishing that the wolf nearby—who could make a sly old merchant into her plaything with a single word — would take a page out of the shepherdess’s book.

She’d be more likable that way, he thought to himself after a moment’s hesitation.

“Fewer towns have been founded recently, though, so you’d do well to save steadily as you pray for good fortune, of course,” said Lawrence.

“Yes. God can become angry if you rely on him too much.”

He’d thought the girl was serious, so her joking tone took him by surprise.

If Holo hadn’t been sleeping behind him, he would have invited her to sit in the driver’s seat.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, though, Holo stirred; Lawrence spoke up hastily. “Uh, er, so, speaking strictly from the standpoint of a merchant, you might make more money escorting my kind like this than you do tending sheep. Surely the territory disputes are difficult.”

“… They are,” said Norah with a pained smile after a short pause. “The safest places already have shepherds occupying them.”

“So all that’s left are wolf-strewn fields.”

“Yes.”

“Wolves certainly can be troublesome — ow!”

Lawrence felt a sudden pain in his buttock and rose involuntarily from the driver’s seat. Norah looked at him, puzzled, and he forced a smile before sitting back down.

Holo’s sleep was evidently feigned. She had pinched him soundly.

“I’m sure the wolves are only looking for food, but sometimes they take lives in the process… A safer place would be nice,” said Norah.

“Well, wolves are sly and treacherous creatures,” said Lawrence, partially to get even for the pinch.

“If I speak ill of them, they may hear, so I won’t.”

Norah’s humble manner was very charming, but Lawrence’s reply, “Indeed,” was mostly for the benefit of the wolf behind him.

“Still,” he continued, “if you’ve skill enough to defend your flock even through wolf-infested fields, shouldn’t your services be in great demand and your flock huge?”

“No, no, it’s only by the grace of God that I remain safe… and I’m thankful to have any work at all. A huge flock, I just couldn’t…”

Perhaps she was just being modest, but it seemed as though there was something else behind her sad smile. Lawrence couldn’t think of many possibilities. Was she dissatisfied with her employer?

Though he knew it wasn’t healthy, Lawrence’s inquisitive nature voiced itself again. “Well, then your employer has no eye for skill,” he said. “Mayhap it’s time for a change.”

Shepherds, after all, were merchants, too. It was only natural they should seek more favorable conditions.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly!” gasped Norah, taken aback.

It didn’t seem like she was protesting out of fear of being heard, either. She was sincere.

“My apologies. I am sorry. As a merchant, I am always thinking of gains and losses.”

“N-no, it’s all right,” said Norah, as if surprised at her own outspokenness. “… Um,” she began.

“Yes?”

“I, I was wondering… do people change their employers… often?”

It was a strange question.

“Well, yes, I think it’s normal if one is unsatisfied with one’s terms of employment.”

«x            »

1 see…

When she talked like this, it sounded as if she was somehow dissatisfied.

Yet Norah’s total shock at the suggestion of changing those terms implied that she found the very idea outrageous. If that was the case, one might deduce the identity of her employer.

She had no relatives, so finding someone who would entrust his sheep to her would be difficult. Even the stoutest shepherd could expect to lose two sheep for every ten they herded — and such was an acceptable loss. It would be normal for someone to worry about a seemingly frail girl being able to bring back even half the flock.

Given that, whoever hired Norah had to be someone motivated by charity rather than self-interest.

In other words…

“If you don’t mind my asking, is your employer by any chance the Church?”

Norah’s expression was so stunned that Lawrence was glad he’d seen it. “How did you —”

“Call it a merchant’s secret,” said Lawrence with a laugh. Holo stomped her foot lightly. “Don’t get cocky,” she seemed to be saying.

“Er, well… yes. I receive my flock from a priest of the Church, but..

“If it’s the Church, you should have no troubles with your work. You’ve found a good employer.”

Her employer was probably a priest connected with the almshouse she’d mentioned earlier. Personal connections were overwhelmingly more useful than either good fortune or strength.

“Yes, I was truly blessed,” answered Norah with a smile.

But to Lawrence, whose very livelihood was based on discerning the truth among flattery and lies, her smile was obviously false.

As Norah turned aside to work with Enek, Lawrence looked at Holo, who had been feigning sleep. Holo returned his gaze, then she sniffed and turned away, shutting her eyes.

If she’d spoken, she would likely have said something like, “I’ve no sympathy at all.”

“They’ve entrusted me with a flock,” said Norah, “and they’ve aided me in many other ways.”

She spoke as if to remind herself of the fact — it was pitiable to see.         .

The reason for Norah’s downcast expression was clear. The Church was not employing her. It was watching her.

Of course, at first it probably had been out of charity that they’d entrusted her with a flock—which is precisely why she never thought of changing employers.

Shepherds were often thought of as being vaguely heretical. They weathered constant accusations of being “the devil’s hands,” so it was far from strange that the ever-suspicious Church would come to doubt a falsely accused woman who took such a job — all the more so when she excelled at it. It was just more evidence of pagan magic.

Even the most oblivious person would eventually notice such suspicion.

At the same time, the shepherdess’s wages could not be high. She was worked hard for meager pay—there would certainly not be enough to set any aside. Lawrence guessed that was the reason she offered her services as an escort.

But Lawrence’s merchant sense told him not to get any more deeply involved in the issue.

His curiosity was sated. Pursuing it any further would make him responsible for further developments.

“I see,” he said. “I daresay you need not worry about finding a different employer.”

“Do you think so?” asked Norah.

“Yes — with the Church’s insistence on honorable poverty, your pay will always be a bit low, but so long as God doesn’t abandon us, the Church will always exist. You’ll not want for work. As long as you have work, you’ll eat. Isn’t that something to be thankful for?”

Having roused her concerns and suggested changing employers, Lawrence knew that the hard fact was nobody would hire a shepherd who’d caught the eye of the Church. It wouldn’t do for his actions to rob a lone girl of her livelihood.

Lawrence wasn’t lying, in any case, and Norah seemed to accept it. She nodded several times, slowly. “I suppose so,” she agreed.

It was true that having a job — any job — was good, but hope was important, too. Lawrence cleared his throat and spoke as cheerfully as he could manage.

“Anyway, I’ve many acquaintances in Ruvinheigen, so we’ll try asking there after any merchants that might need protection from wolves. After all, God never said anything about having a nice little sideline, eh?”

“Truly? Oh, thank you!”

Norah’s face lit up so brilliantly that Lawrence couldn’t help but be a bit smitten.

At such times, he was unable to muster his usual disdain for Weiz, the womanizing money changer in the port town of Pazzio.

But Norah was not a town girl nor was she an artisan girl or a shopgirl. She had a unique freshness to her. Part of it was a serious demeanor likely inherited from nuns at the almshouse, who had a slightly negative way of thinking, as if trying to suppress their feelings.

Norah seemed to have taken that unpleasant tendency and replaced it with something else.

It didn’t take a womanizer to notice it. Lawrence was willing to bet that Enek, who even now wagged his tail at Norah, was a male.

“Settling in a town is the dream of all who live by travel, after all.”

These words were still true.

Norah nodded and raised her staff high.

Her bell rang out and Enek bolted, turning the sheep neatly along the road.

They began to talk about food for traveling, becoming excited at the prospect.

Stretching across the wide plain, the road ahead was clear and easy.

Shepherds’ nights come early. They decide where to camp well before the sun sets and are already curled up and sleeping by the time its red disc is low in the sky and the peasants are heading home from the fields. They then rise once the sun is down and the roads free of traffic, and they pass the night with their dogs, watching over the flock.

When dawn begins to break, shepherds sleep on alternate shifts with their dogs. There is little time for sleep in the life of

a shepherd — one reason why the profession is such a hard one. The life of a merchant, who can count on a good night’s sleep, is easy by comparison.

“Hard work, this,” Lawrence muttered to no one in particular as he lay in the wagon bed, holding a piece of dried meat in his mouth. It wasn’t yet cold enough to bother with a fire.

He glanced frequently at Norah’s form, curled up like a stone by the roadside. He’d offered her the wagon bed, but she had begged off, saying this was how she always slept, before laying down in the meager padding afforded by the grass.

When he looked away from her, his eyes landed on Holo, who was at his right. Finally free from the prying eyes of humans, she had her tail out and had begun grooming it.

She never tires of that, thought Lawrence to himself as he looked at the busily grooming Holo, her profile the very image of seriousness. Suddenly she spoke, quietly.

“Daily care of one’s tail is important.”

For a moment Lawrence didn’t understand, but then he remembered what he’d just said a moment age to himself; she was merely responding. He chuckled soundlessly, and Holo glanced at him, a question in her eyes.

“Oh, you meant the child,” she said.

“Her name’s Norah Arendt,” explained Lawrence, amused at Holo’s derisive use of child to refer to the girl.

Holo looked past Lawrence at Norah, then back. Just as Lawrence opened his mouth, she snatched the jerky from it. Lawrence was stunned into silence for a moment. When he came to his senses and tried to take the meat back, he received such an evil eye from Holo that he withdrew his hand.

It wasn’t necessarily because of his teasing, but she was clearly in a foul temper.

She had gone out of her way to sit next to Lawrence as

she groomed her tail, so presumably the object of her anger wasn’t him.

The source of her bad mood was obvious, really.

“Look, I did ask you,” said Lawrence.

It sounded like an excuse. Holo sniffed in irritation.

“Can’t even groom my tail in peace.”

“Why don’t you do it in the wagon bed?”

“Hmph. If I do it there..

“If you do it there, what?” Lawrence pressed the suddenly silent Holo, who sneered at him, the jerky still held between her teeth. Evidently she didn’t want to discuss the matter.

Lawrence wanted to know what she was going to say, but if he pushed any further, she would become genuinely angry.

He looked away from Holo, whose wounded-horse mood made her entirely too difficult to deal with, and put a leather flask filled with water to his lips.

Lawrence had just managed to stop thinking of her, and as the sun set, he considered starting a fire when Holo snapped at him. “You certainly seemed to enjoy your little chat with her,” she said.

“Hm? With Norah?”

Holo still had the stolen jerky in her mouth as she looked down at her tail — but her proud tail was obviously not what was on her mind.

“She wanted to talk. I didn’t have any reason to refuse, did I?”

Apparently the indulgence of a wisewolf was not so broad as to forgive pleasant conversation with a hated shepherd.

Holo had pretended to sleep the entire time. Norah had glanced at Holo and seemed inclined to engage the girl — who after all appeared to be roughly her age — in conversation but had stopped at asking her name. If Holo had wanted to speak to Norah, there had been opportunities aplenty.

“Also, I haven’t spoken to a normal girl in some time,” said Lawrence jokingly as he looked back to Holo — and faltered at what he saw.

Holo’s expression had completely changed.

But it was nothing like the tears of jealousy he’d hoped to see.

She looked at him with nothing less than pity.

“You couldn’t even tell that she hated speaking with you?”

“Huh… ?” said Lawrence, casting a look back in Norah’s direction, but stopped himself after a moment. As a merchant, he couldn’t keep falling for the same trick twice.

Pretending he hadn’t looked back at all, he calmed himself and remembered the words of a minstrel he’d once heard.

“Well, if she fell in love with me at first sight, she’d miss the fun of falling for me over weeks and months, eh?” he said.

Lawrence hadn’t been convinced by this statement when he’d first heard it, but saying it now lent it a kind of conviction. Perhaps it really was more fun to fall in love gradually, rather than all at once.

But apparently, it was too much for Holo.

Her mouth dropped open in shock, and the piece of jerky fell to the floor.

“I’ve some wit myself, eh?” said Lawrence.

He’d said it to get a laugh out of Holo, but he was also halfserious.

As soon as she heard it, the wave that hit Holo became a tsunami on its way back, and she exploded with laughter.

“Mmph…bu-ha-ha-ha! Oh, oh, that’s too good! Oh! Ha-ha- ha-ha!” Holo was doubled over, clutching her stomach, as she laughed, trying occasionally to stifle it only to dissolve into giggles yet again. Eventually her face turned red and she pitched forward into the pile of armor in the wagon bed, her pained laughter continuing.

Lawrence joined in at first, but as he saw more of Holo’s reaction, his expression darkened.

Her tail, fluffier than normal thanks to its recent grooming, slapped against the wagon bed, almost as if begging for help.

“Okay, that’s too much laughing.”

It was no longer funny.

.. Ye gods,” Lawrence muttered, taking another drink from the water flask, as if to wash down both the irritation at being laughed at, as well as the embarrassment he now felt for quoting a minstrel of all things.

“Haah. Whew. Oh… oh my. That was amusing.”

“Are you quite done?” inquired Lawrence with a sigh, looking off to the sun that now sank into the horizon. He didn’t much feel like looking at Holo, mistake or not.

“Mm. That was quite a trump card you had there.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lawrence saw Holo nestled atop the pile of armor, her laughter-fatigued face angled toward him.

It was as though she was exhausted after an all-out sprint.

“Well, as long as you’re happy now.”

No matter how much she hated shepherds, Holo’s foul temper had been a bit too foul, Lawrence felt. It was hard to imagine that she was actually jealous of the conversation he’d had with the girl, nor was it true that she’d had absolutely no opportunity to groom her tail.

For a moment he wondered if it was simply shyness, but then he recalled their first meeting and decided that was entirely impossible.

“Hm? Happy?”

The wolf ears of the individual in question — which had become uncovered when she collapsed in laughter — now pricked up curiously as she regarded him with tear-blurred eyes, as though he had said something quite strange.

“You were in a foul temper earlier — because you couldn’t tend to your tail, you said.”

She seemed to remember something.

“Oh, quite,” she said, her face calm.

She hauled herself up off of the cargo, then plopped herself back down, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes.

Looking at her now, Lawrence thought she could not care less about whether or not she had sufficient opportunity for tail grooming. Had that just been an excuse to vent her irritation about something else entirely?

“Can’t be helped,” she said.

The tip of her tail slapped lightly against the floor of the wagon.

“Anyway, your trump card made me laugh so hard I turned giddy,” said Holo, chuckling at the memory. She then looked outside the wagon. “Is the child not cold, I wonder?”

Her observation brought Lawrence back to the present. The sun was mostly down, and the sky was a darkening blue. He had best build a fire.

He had heard that shepherds didn’t generally build fires, though that was because they had to watch over and chase down their sheep, not out of any particular resistance to cold.

Lawrence mused on this as he looked at Norah, curled up on the grass’s paltry cushion.

He felt a sudden movement near his mouth and turned to find Holo thrusting a piece of jerky in his direction.

“Payment for your services as a jester.”

“Only one piece of jerky for such laugher?”

“Oh, you don’t want it?” taunted Holo, amused. Despite his embarrassment, Lawrence decided to accept the offering.

— but his teeth closed on air. Holo had drawn her hand back at the last moment.

The wisewolf snickered; Lawrence realized that going up against her was a fool’s errand. If she decided to be so childish, he could only ignore her.

If he didn’t build a fire soon, then they would all be eating dinner in the cold. Lawrence moved to get off the wagon, but Holo grabbed his sleeve and drew near.

Lawrence’s heart skipped a beat.

Her eyelashes still had traces of tears in them, which caught the red light of the setting sun.

“I do think, from time to time, that some raw mutton would be nice — what say you?”

With the mournful bleating of the sheep echoing through the twilight air, Holo’s words — spoken through her ever-keen fangs — could not have been entirely in jest.

After all, she was a wolf.

Lawrence patted Holo’s head as if chiding her for making a bad joke, then hopped off the wagon.

Holo’s lip curled in a brief snarl, but she soon smiled slightly and passed Lawrence the bundle of straw, tinder, and firewood.