Spice and Wolf - Volume 20 - Chapter 3

CARAMEL DAYS AND WOLF

In small villages, the residents knew everything about one another. From what other houses ate for dinner the night before to how the dog that slept in front of the fire was doing—everything was leaked. That was not different for the hot spring village of Nyohhira.

But what was most easily overlooked was how people did not often hear rumors about themselves.

“Holo.”

After dinner, Lawrence, the master of the bathhouse Spice and Wolf, called his wife’s name as he trimmed the wick of the candle in the bedroom.

Her long, flaxen hair, slender shoulders, and beautiful, flawless fingers often reminded him of those of a noble girl. In addition to how she looked to be fourteen or fifteen, many who came to the house for the first time would mistake her for a new bride and offer their congratulations.

However, her graceful appearance was only temporary. Holo was actually the avatar of a giant, centuries-old wolf.

And so when Lawrence called out to her, she did not obediently turn around to look at him, nor did she smile back coyly. Her ears responded apathetically with a quick twitch.

They were pointed, triangular wolf ears, the same color as her hair.

“Hey, I need to talk to you.”

Holo finally looked up when she heard Lawrence’s exasperated tone.

She had been glued to the desk in their room ever since they had finished eating.

“What is it?”

She furrowed her brows and glared as she spoke and seemed quite irritated. But Lawrence sighed once and reached out to her cheek.

“You have ink on you.”

“Mmph.”

As Lawrence wiped it away with his finger, Holo closed her eyes, and her wolf ears fluttered.

Her fluffy tail swished back and forth, so it was apparent that she was not in a bad mood.

She had looked at him that way because she was tired.

“I swear…”

Lawrence rubbed the edges of her eyes with both of his thumbs. Then he gently placed the pad of his thumb onto her closed eyelid, and she rolled her eye about playfully.

“Should I go soak a cloth in the water?”

Many of the people in the inn, such as high-ranking clergy, were involved with writing work.

He had inquired about their methods for treating eye strain, which was to place a warm, damp cloth over the eyes.

“Mmm…”

Holo, however, did not give much of a response, and after grabbing Lawrence’s hands, she placed them on her neck. She was asking him for a massage. Having no choice, Lawrence began to move his hands, and Holo lazily put her weight into him, her tail wagging in great satisfaction. Despite how obviously selfish she was acting, Lawrence found himself delighted to see how sincere her happiness was and doted on her.

Reality suddenly dawned on him, and he reminded himself that he would have to scold her today.

It was about her writing activities that she had become engrossed in not too long ago, cramming the pages spread out over the desk full with words.

“I heard a rumor when I went to the village assembly today.”

“Hmm?”

Holo took Lawrence’s hands, which had been massaging the back of her neck, and plopped them onto her shoulders.

She was telling him to massage her there, then talk afterward.

She was treating him like a servant, but her ears and tail wiggled about in pleasure, so Lawrence himself did not entirely hate it. In that respect, it was not all bad how she had suddenly became engrossed in writing.

The quill pens and ink, paper for memos, parchment for clean copies, a looking glass to enlarge the letters, and the candles for staying up late had all cost quite a bit of money, but Lawrence felt it was all worthwhile. Because most importantly, what Holo was writing about was very meaningful.

Holo was the avatar of a wolf, and she would live for hundreds of years. On the other hand, Lawrence was just human, and it would not be long before his life was over and he would leave Holo behind. She was writing about the things that happened during the day so that when the inevitable moment came that she found herself alone, she could relive their happy times now over and over.

That was all fine and well. It was Lawrence who had given her that idea.

However, Holo always took things too far.

“People are talking because you keep wandering around the house with pen and paper in hand.”

“Hmm.”

Holo leaned her head to the left, as though telling him to press harder on her right side.

Lawrence gripped his fingers harder, and she growled deep in her throat, less like a wolf and more like a cat.

“They’re saying the mistress of Spice and Wolf must have either awakened to poetry, or is writing down her conversations with God.”

“Hmm…mm, hmm…Oohhh, there, right there.”

When Lawrence moved his fingers with a touch of anger, as Holo would not honestly listen to him, she just puffed up her tail and concentrated on the feeling.

After Lawrence had massaged her shoulders in silence for a little while, Holo spoke leisurely.

“And? What problem does that cause?”

Wondering if she was finally ready to listen, Lawrence tried to pull his hands away from her shoulders, but Holo resisted.

He gave up and answered as he continued the massage.

“Everyone around us is making weird speculations.”

Holo did not make even a peep, but her ears were facing him, so she must have been willing to listen.

“To put it briefly, people are gossiping, wondering if you’re going to leave the house and join some nunnery somewhere.”

At that moment, Holo’s ears stood up straight.

Then slowly, she turned to look back at Lawrence.

“What?”

She seemed dubious, as though she truly did not understand.

Lawrence hesitated to explain it, but nothing would come of deceiving her.

“You look young, remember? It means they’re wondering if you’re not satisfied with me; it’s a crude rumor.”

Holo still looked puzzled.

“For young wives married off to older men to decide one day to join a nunnery usually means she’s cheating as a result of being unable to control her body or otherwise getting a divorce.”

The light disappeared from Holo’s eyes as she looked at him. Her lips began to move, but they froze in place.

Had an outsider seen Lawrence staring at Holo as she was, they might have thought that the wife was deeply hurt by her husband doubting her fidelity.

However, the first one to let out a breath was Lawrence, and he inhaled deeply once more after leaning forward and burying his nose in Holo’s hair.

“I know I’m not that old yet…”

The hands around Holo’s shoulders embraced her whole body.

She shook as though she were coughing, perhaps because she was laughing.

“Heh. Even a half-wit like you occasionally speaks like a boy.”

Holo patted his wrists, then pinched him.

“But it perhaps ’twould be best for me to ask. You seem rather upset about this, no?”

Holo’s tone of voice was unusually sympathetic.

After a moment of silence, Lawrence spoke.

“We’re in the service industry. Who would want to stay at the inn of a man whose young wife left him? Those types of rumors are more than enough to leave a bad impression on customers.”

Holo stared wide-eyed at him, then gave a tired smile.

“’Tis certainly true.”

“And you can’t be so careless anymore.”

“Oh?”

“A good inn is worthy property. There are guys who are after that inheritance, and there are many out there who are willing to start interfering when it comes to that. Before you even theoretically leave, we might be visited by good-natured fallen nobility who live modestly in poor territories, coming to sell their youngest daughters.”

His explanation caused Holo to prick up her ears so keenly that she would have been able to hear a mouse sneeze on the opposite side of a mountain, and even noble daughters paled in comparison to her sheer envy.

Lawrence withered under the danger he felt from merely imagining the cute, young girls waltzing gracefully in, aiming for the seat of the bathhouse wife, and how much trouble it would be to appease Holo.

As such, the rumors floating around the village were a great nuisance.

“Hmm…”

Those who try to steal her prey from her must be eliminated.

That was written all over Holo’s face as she pondered for a few moments before eyeing Lawrence reluctantly.

“And what is it I must do? Shall I cling to you before others?”

She spoke while gently stroking Lawrence’s hand, her gaze flirtatious.

For someone who referred to herself as the wisewolf, she loved putting on these kinds of affectations. Since she would grow even more pleased if Lawrence resisted, he responded calmly.

“Act normal.”

“Hmph! You bore me.”

Holo groaned, puffing out her cheeks, and Lawrence sighed impatiently.

“And don’t wander around too much with a paper and pen. You’ll stand out.”

“Mmmph…”

Her second groan was slightly different than the first.

“If you’re just writing down what happened that day, then you can do a little before you go to bed at night, right?”

Holo, however, never let go of her pen or paper from the moment she woke up to the moment she went to sleep.

“You fool. I may miss something important if I do.”

“There’s not even all that much that happens every day…Actually, hang on, can I see what you’ve written today so far?”

“Ngh—th-this—no, this—fool!”

Like a child, Holo tried to hide her writing, so Lawrence held her back this time and snatched the paper from the desk.

Holo still tried to take it back, but Lawrence receded from the chair and she did not follow.

“Did you write anything down that would make me upset if I saw it?”

“Of course not!”

“So it’s fine, then…But you’ve really crammed it in here…Are you still planning on copying this to the parchment?”

Holo kept cheap paper made from rags with her as she wandered about day by day. There she would write down memos and drafts; later she would copy the contents to proper parchment. Sheepskin parchment was incredibly durable and could even survive being caught in a fire, so it was perfect for Holo, who would pore over it for hundreds of years.

“Let’s see…Your handwriting is as bad as always…”

“Silence!”

She took a pinch of sand meant for drying the ink and tossed it at him.

Despite being quite dexterous, Holo had rather poor handwriting. Her eyesight was not very good, so it was hard for her to differentiate between shapes.

“Now, then. ‘Morning, woke up. Ate two boiled eggs and soft wheat bread with cheese on top, roasted on the fire. For garnish, two pieces of sausage from last night’s dinner and chicken breast. A cup of ale to wash it down.’”

It was a particularly luxurious breakfast, so maybe she had been happy and wrote about it. On second thought, did she really need to write about it with so much detail? He looked at Holo, and she turned away in a huff.

“‘After breakfast, a guest romping in the bath asked me to give him some drink. He was drunk, so gave him wine that was almost expired mixed with honey, and he was overjoyed to receive prime-class drink. He paid seven copper coins of a male’s profile wearing a crown of thorns’…Wait, seven?!”

Lawrence looked at Holo in surprise, and she sniffed proudly.

“A crown of thorns…That’s the quisine copper coin. Four would have been enough…”

“’Tis because I carried it to him myself. Tip was included. I did not exactly mention ’twas not expensive wine.”

“…”

It was certainly the guest who had made the mistake, and merchants always thought hard on how to make wine taste better.

They either made it sweeter by using honey, faked the taste of spirits with the bitterness of ginger, or made it clear like premium alcohol with egg whites and lime.

Customers, too, were cautious, so if they were happy to pay, then they should be happy to receive as well.

While he considered that, it did not quite sit well with him.

“‘Dancers and musicians came before lunch. Cleaned the ash in the stove while the sun was up as I listened to the lively clamor.’”

“See how earnestly I am working?”

Holo grinned, her tail wagging as she spoke.

Though she always pushed cleaning the oven on someone else, saying the ash would get in her tail, Lawrence did think it unusual and read the next part.

“‘The onion I wrapped in clay in the ash had baked well. Cracked the clay, drizzled chopped green herbs and oil from the south on it, added some salt and ate it. Unfortunate that there was no ale…’”

“Oh.”

Holo looked guilty. She must have learned how to eat onion that way from a guest.

He had thought she was cleaning the oven for once, but she was just shrewdly having a snack.

Perhaps no longer able to bear Lawrence’s gaze, Holo got out of the chair.

“Do you not think that is enough now?”

“You’re not doing other things like this, are you?”

Holo tried to take the paper back, but he was taller than her.

Lawrence held it high over his head and kept reading.

“‘After lunch, cleaned the soot by the oven.’ Wow, cleaning the soot, huh?”

No matter how well the oven was built, soot would cling to all the nooks and crannies if they tried to circulate the warm air that wafted from it throughout the building. Holo did not like this work, either, since it dirtied her face and hands.

“‘Along the way, went to check on the bottle I left by the chimney’…Bottle?”

He gazed down at his chest at Holo as she grumpily stood on tiptoe, trying somehow to take the paper back.

“What bottle?”

“…I do not know.”

She gave up, stepped back, folded her arms, and looked away.

Lawrence saw how her tail wavered in discontent, then continued reading.

“‘That Cyrus had taught me something interesting. Next time, I must tell him where to find currants in the wood.’”

His attention caught on the name Cyrus.

That was the name of a bathhouse owner close to Lawrence and was well-known within Nyohhira as a master brewer.

A bottle placed beside the oven likely meant she was fermenting alcohol.

But he did not know what kind of alcohol it could be. Proper tools and fuel were required for making ale, and creating wine was not possible without grapes. He thought it might be a kind of cider, but real fruit around here could only be gathered in the early summertime, so it would have had to been kept for several weeks. As for mead, they had left management of the honey to their kitchen worker, Hanna, so swiping some would not have been so easy a task.

Of course, he could not rebuke her for just simple penny scraping. If she were making alcohol on her own out of his sight, then there was no point in making her restrain her evening alcohol intake.

While Holo insisted she was all right, there was no way drinking too much was good for her.

“What kind of alcohol is it?”

Lawrence asked, and Holo pouted.

She looked exactly like their daughter, Myuri, who similarly pouted when Col scolded her after he discovered one of her tricks.

Now it was clear who exactly that tomboy took after.

“You don’t have to tell me, but when I talk about this with Miss Hanna, she’ll cut back your daily drinks.”

“Wha—!”

Holo looked murderously at Lawrence.

When he shook the paper, her head drooped, dejected.

“’Twas bread alcohol…”

“Bread? Oh, kvass, huh?”

Kvass was a light drink made by adding spirit and a bit of honey to dark rye bread soaking in water.

Its bitter and sour taste was unique, and one either hated it or loved it.

“You really thought about it…Miss Hanna isn’t so fussy about rye bread.”

Different types of grain produced completely different types of bread. The lowest among them was oats, which produced something that was not entirely bread, and at times even the horses ate them. The highest quality was of course wheat, which made soft and sweet bread.

In between those two was the black bread made from rye, but it was hard and bitter and not very tasty, so it was often mixed in with wheat flour. The reason why a bathhouse that only housed the rich had such a dark bread was because the guests, who indulged in every luxury possible, occasionally observed moderation as a way to atone for their sins.

“I swear…Who would’ve thought that the wisewolf, of all people, was secretly brewing and drinking her own alcohol?”

Holo recoiled as though she had taken a hit but bounded back immediately.

“You fool! I have set my wits to work so that it does not harm your wallet!”

“Even though you were roasting and eating an onion, which we don’t look too closely after, on the stove on your own? And oil from the south sounds like olive oil. That stuff’s expensive, since it traveled such a long way.”

He found it maddening yet that she ate it with herbs. It most certainly sounded delicious.

In the end, instead of reflecting on the scolding, Holo pouted sullenly.

Perhaps it was because of how she was the avatar of a wolf who lived in wheat and governed over its harvest that she was so attached to food.

“Sigh…Ever since Myuri left, I thought we’d get a bit of peace back to the bathhouse…”

Their only daughter, Myuri, was like an impatient puppy, who put all her energy into pranks at every chance she could get.

Holo also had to preserve her dignity as a mother before her daughter, so she had shown composure that suited the wisewolf name.

But Myuri had chased after the young Col, who had been helping out at the bathhouse, and left on a journey.

Holo’s motherly guise was peeling away day by day, and the Holo who had traveled in the back of the cart had returned.

She pestered Lawrence for good food, diligently maintained her tail at every chance she had, and tried drinking as much alcohol as she could each night. She fussed about waking up in the morning, sleepily closed her eyes before the fireplace at dusk, and reached out for him to carry her back to their room.

He, of course, could not allow her to do all that. They simply lacked the manpower once Col and Myuri left, so Holo was doing her fair share of work.

Ordinary days continued as there were no significant arguments or disturbances.

Holo had said she was afraid of forgetting these ordinary days, despite how happy they were. But they had solved this problem by giving her a pen and ink and paper.

And so, it was all settled, everything was peaceful, the family was safe, the business flourishing…Or so he had thought, and now this.

Lawrence was more puzzled than he was annoyed. Is there still something that’s bothering her?

No matter how forward she was with her demands, her utter charm made him feel as if he were the unreasonable one for not yielding to her every whim.

And yet, it was clear that she had written of other misdeeds as well. There was no doubt that a number of further offenses were recorded within these pages.

Why did she do it?

It was not like Holo to leave such foolish evidence in the first place.

Ever since she had started writing these documents, she seemed to not want anyone else to look, perhaps out of embarrassment, so he had respected her wishes and refrained. Perhaps she was relieved to have gotten away with it and proudly jotted it down like some kind of badge of honor.

Lawrence felt less anger than he did sadness. He had not thought Holo to be so mean-spirited.

He wanted to bake and eat the onion with her. Cracking open the clay and waiting with bated breath to see how it turned out sounded like so much fun. The kvass would have tasted much better had they and Selim and Hanna all drunk it together. He would have enjoyed brainstorming ways to brew it cheaply and deliciously.

He thought Holo knew that well.

But once his thoughts reached that far, it suddenly dawned on him that Holo might still have some troubles that he was not aware of.

He could not wholly say that she did not have the tendency to gleefully keep all the good food to herself, but it was a different story altogether if she were brewing and drinking alcohol in secret alone. What if it was a distraction from something she could not tell him? What if she detailed all these signs on paper, as her own style of code, to remind him of special feelings she could not tell him directly?

With those considerations in mind, Lawrence felt as though he understood Holo’s actions. He should imagine how she would act if she were sipping on a bitter, sour drink like kvass all on her own. He could not imagine it was a very enjoyable drink. He should have noticed earlier.

Maybe what she needed now was not a scolding but a cuddle?

Even if she really had dug up a mud-covered onion from the oven, coated its soft, baked body in minced herbs and olive oil, and finally coated it all in a sprinkling of salt and ate it…Wait, ate it?

He changed his mind: No, there was definitely something strange here.

Lawrence sort of understood if she craved things in secret to distract herself from her troubles. Drinking in frustration was a prime example of that. But would she not be perfectly content to prepare herbs and olive oil and even a sprinkling of salt with such attention to detail? Holo would have been grinning no matter how he thought about it.

Lawrence looked straight at Holo. Nothing quite added up.

He squinted at her, and his mouth twisted in annoyance.

At last, he heaved a massive sigh.

“Hey, Holo.”

She sulked, as though wishing he would leave her alone, and gave him a sidelong glance.

Lawrence scratched at his bangs.

“Everything you’ve written here is a lie, isn’t it?”

Holo’s wolf ears and tail, which had been drooped somewhat lazily, stood on end.

“I read this and get angry, tell you I’m going to confiscate the kvass, then start searching around the chimney. But I don’t find anything. I ask you, What is the meaning of this? Then, like a drenched cat, you start shaking, insisting you don’t know. Then I keep pressuring you for more answers. Then what happens?”

Holo, whose eyes were closed as she listened, took a deep breath as though to stretch, then exhaled.

Finally, she smirked.

“Then I would chuckle.”

“…”

Lawrence stared at her grumpily, and Holo began laughing, her shoulders shaking as she playfully embraced him.

“Do not be so angry. I had no intentions of tricking you to tease you.”

It was a humble smile, one that was searching for mediation, but Lawrence responded coolly.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Wha—…You fool!”

Holo stomped on his toes.

But it seemed she was reasonable enough to reconsider that; since he doubted her words, she had done just enough wrong that he would doubt her herself. Reluctantly, she explained.

“Hmph. As I began to write down my daily activities, I found myself enjoying writing quite a bit. That being said, ’twas not enough to write about every day, so I began to write down what I would imagine would be fun.”

Lawrence looked at the paper and wrinkled his nose.

“All this?”

“Well…about half.”

Though she appeared calm and composed, her ears and tail clearly indicated that she was slightly embarrassed.

Becoming completely absorbed in writing fiction was nothing but a pastime for noble girls who had too much free time in their manors. Lawrence sort of understood how Holo felt, not wanting him to read what she wrote.

And yet, Lawrence himself had overlooked something.

“I guess I was supposed to realize you don’t have such luxurious breakfasts in the first place.”

“’Tis nothing but how pitiful I am, how starving I am, when I write about how much I wish to eat it…”

She even pretended to wipe away tears from the corners of her eyes as she said this, but the reason why she never ate the previous night’s leftovers for breakfast the following morning was because there were no leftovers—she always devoured everything on her dinner plate.

“And what about selling the vinegar wine for a high price?”

“’Tis real. Though it was a drunken guest who spilled it after barely a sip, however. My little trick, spoiled.”

Then he may have counted his copper wrong and given her too much.

“And the kvass? You didn’t actually make it?”

Lawrence probed for the truth, and Holo swiftly averted her gaze.

“Hey, come on…”

“I—I did not make it! I simply asked for directions how!”

As he studied her closely, she glared back at him.

Holo certainly had enough pride as a self-proclaimed wisewolf.

It did not seem like she was lying.

“…There are days we bake the black bread for the guests who fast on a whim, do we not? But they never finish it. I wish to tell them to imagine themselves in our shoes, having to feed on their leftovers!”

“Oh yeah, taking care of it would be easier that way…”

“Mm. And…I honestly did try it once, but I failed. Well, ’tis not a lie to say I did not actually make any.”

“…”

He looked at her, slightly vexed, and she tilted her head with a grin, like Myuri did when she was dodging a question.

“To eat such a delicious meal first thing in the morning, then to have a delightful snack whilst doing tiresome work, and to even have a drink—is that not the ideal day? I wish to spend days such as those. Isn’t that so, dear?”

She squeezed him again and rubbed her face on his chest, fawning on him. Her tail wagged the way it did when she was in a good mood, so Lawrence’s shoulders drooped.

“I’m the luckiest man alive to have married someone so humble and with such modest desires.”

“Eh-heh. Indeed, indeed.”

Lawrence wondered for a moment how much she understood his sarcasm, but this was Holo—of course she caught on.

He was not sure if he should be perturbed by her usual demeanor or just force out a smile.

He wrapped his arms around her one more time and spoke.

“So first, the onion.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re keeping a log of the days you spend in this bathhouse to read a looong time from now, right?”

Holo opened her eyes wide, and the hair on her ears and tail puffed up.

“And won’t eating onions make you really sick?”

When he asked her this with a mischievous smile on his face, Holo pouted and stomped on both of his feet.

“I am not a dog!”

Unbothered, Lawrence ignored her and shrugged.

“And the kvass will help make taking care of that bad dark bread a little easier, and I understand wanting a treat after taking care of the ash and cleaning the soot since it’s so much trouble.”

Holo still looked at him doubtfully after being teased so, but she finally smiled in agreement.

“There is no greater gain than turning the dreadful into the enjoyable. It must be the secret of having fun every day.”

“Mm.”

They smiled at each other as Holo’s tail flapped cheerfully, and Lawrence started again.

“Well, let’s leave the onions and the kvass for tomorrow and get to bed now.”

It was rather late. It had reached an hour where everyone was sleeping soundly, even in the late nights of Nyohhira.

With his hands wrapped around Holo, he lifted her slender frame and carried her to the bed.

His feet soon stopped because Holo planted herself in place.

“Holo?”

“Fool.”

She slipped from his grasp.

Then, ignoring Lawrence’s befuddlement, she gleefully put on the bandanna and sash she wore to conceal her ears and tail whenever she left the room.

“You are a merchant who would give his life for money, are you not?”

The moment the thought I have a bad feeling about this… crossed his mind, Holo readily tugged at his arms.

“Time is money. And there are so many things to do for my ideal day.”

She cradled Lawrence’s arm as she pulled him, motioning to the desk with her chin.

There on the desk were the papers she had been glued to, writing both day and night.

Lawrence directed his gaze back to the girl beside him from the bundles of paper, and she gave a wide, deliberate grin.

“…We’re not going to actually make it all a reality, right?”

A tinge of mischief colored Holo’s expression as one of her wolf fangs peeked out from beneath her lips and a dangerous light glinted in her bright, reddish-amber eyes.

“I am Holo the Wisewolf, who lived in wheat, controlled its harvest, and was at one time worshipped as a god. Prophecies and the sort are highly valued in human society, no?”

If their daughter Myuri was the type of wolf to run straight at her prey at full speed, then Holo was the kind to attack from behind under the cover of night.

“Or is it that you are all right with me reading this alone to myself in the far future, wishing I had done such and such with my dear…as I weep?”

“Erk—”

There was Holo’s usual selfishness.

If he were to refuse outright, then she would trick him as she usually did into thinking he was the narrow-minded one.

Well? Her red eyes looked straight at him, brimming with confidence.

Lawrence resisted for a while, but her hand gripped him even tighter, and he gave in.

Because once he saw the joy on Holo’s face, that happiness would in the end become his own, too.

“However.”

Lawrence told himself that he was wiser now. “You have to help me as well, in order to clear up all the rumors in the village.”

Holo did not age and would always remain in the form of a young girl. Similar rumors might spread in the future.

Lawrence was still much too young to say that it was all right if only they knew the truth.

And his self-respect as a man was also on the line.

“Eh-heh.”

Holo conceded like a collapsing heap of flour and chuckled.

“Very well. You are a boy, after all.”

She took his hand, sniffed his palm, and kissed the knuckle on his little finger.

“I shall act well enough to make it seem like I am in love with you,” Holo said. Lawrence pulled his arm in and her along with it.

“Not so that it seems but so that they know.”

Holo blinked at Lawrence’s dejected expression.

“No, seems like I am in love with you is the correct wording. For ’tis you that is in love with me.”

“Really? Who is it that gets grumpy the moment I become busy, pestering me to spend time with them?”

“Wha—?!”

As they bickered back and forth, Holo and Lawrence left the bedroom together.

Their faces contorted sarcastically as they digged at one another, pouring salt into each other’s wounds—but they quietly closed the door behind them and walked down the hallway hand in hand.

“’Tis why you are nothing but a fool, even after all this time!”

“The wisewolf herself is going to cry, considering she doesn’t seem to know me at all.”

As they walked through the dark house without so much as a candle, Lawrence recalled the time when he first met Holo.

They spent many nights together on that small cart. When they argued back then, they would truly grow angry with each other, their fights so intense that looking back on it now made him wonder why things got so heated.

For better or for worse, he could no longer fully recall how he felt back then.

The passing of the months and days was a mysterious thing, and all his past experiences enveloped him like the layers of blankets under which he slept. Underneath these layers, he could weather any cold, and no blade would be able to pierce deep enough to reach him. He was confident that nothing would ever come between him and Holo.

At the same time, in exchange, he felt a sense of loss. The feelings he so openly expressed back then now only existed in space somewhere in a faraway, distant world. He longed for them and felt sad that they were no longer with him.

But only a fool mourned the number of coins lost from one’s wallet from shopping.

As long as the goods purchased were worthwhile, then the spent coins were nothing significant.

“One would be too few, yes? Here, hold it. I shall fetch the oil pot.”

They crept into the food storehouse, and Lawrence laughed as he held the two or three onions that Holo handed him.

“This definitely isn’t enough.”

Any typical amount of preparedness would not be enough to enjoy all the time he received with Holo.

“Get the ale cask while you’re at it.”

Holo’s eyes gleamed visibly through the darkness.

“’Tis your fault, after all. You shall be the one to explain to Hanna.”

Lawrence was the master of the bathhouse, but the kitchen was Hanna’s territory. Even Lawrence could not escape a scolding if he pilfered food from the kitchen.

“It’d be obvious whose fault it was if she saw you stumbling around with a hangover even if I did lie, wouldn’t it?”

Holo pouted angrily, but the air escaped her closed lips and she cackled.

“’Tis a challenge, then.”

“Alcohol isn’t something you drink during a challenge.”

“Oh? Are you running away?”

“A gentleman takes the blame for their partner.”

He and Holo, who bit her lip and grinned, prodded at each other.

Lawrence felt like he was ten, twenty years younger as they played around like children.

Like a bandit whispering to his partner, Lawrence said, “Hey, c’mon and get the goods ready. We don’t wanna be found.”

“You go and get the clay from the shed. I have heard ’tis sweeter the more clay there is. Bring plenty please.”

“Oh, that’s almost like—”

Lawrence said that much but cut himself off.

Holo looked up at him blankly, but she smiled and brushed it off.

“Got it. Then we’ll meet in front of the oven.”

“Mm.”

They exchanged light kisses, with Lawrence crouched forward and Holo standing on her toes, then went off to carry out their missions.

As Lawrence made his way to the shed out back, he thought about how the onions reminded him of themselves. The thicker their experiences were over the years, the sweeter the inside became. He did consider if it might be too sweet, but that was worth its own pleasure.

Lawrence prepared what he needed, then quickly returned to the fireplace in the guest hall. There were no guests up this late, and the red, ash-covered coals were crackling softly. Holo arrived just then as well, and they chuckled when they looked at each other. No matter what they said, it would not be enough to express how they felt.

“Holo.”

“Hmm?”

Lawrence did not respond with words and merely smiled. Holo, too, understood what he meant, and like their tomboyish daughter, she bared her teeth in a grin.

Their days were not a repeat of one after another. There was no end to what they could enjoy.

This was but one scene in the quiet of night that convinced him of that.