Spice and Wolf - Volume 23 - Chapter 4

THE COLOR OF DAWN AND WOLF

Back when Lawrence had yet to sprout a single hair on his chin, a traveling merchant came to his village. He became close with the man, and they left the village together.

His master had been an eccentric person, and though he had not taught Lawrence every trick of the trade, nor had he been a particularly kind benefactor, the treatment Lawrence received had not been as horrible as what the errand boys in large companies endured.

When he thought back on it, he likened the relationship to a stray cat taking in a puppy and raising it entirely on a whim. And the reason his mentor had been so strange was because his outlook on life was unique, formed after years of living on the road.

As he grew older than his mentor was at the time, Lawrence had now found himself gazing out over the autumn festival in Salonia, a town he had so happened to stop by in his first journey in a long while. It was strange how those memories suddenly came back to him.

From his window at the inn, he watched over the plaza; he watched as the people built a large stage, as the important folk from both the city and the church held some sort of celebration, and how the people reveled in one last party before winter came.

Salonia had no stand-out religious events, so the highlight of the autumn festival was the drinking contest, where people competed to see who could drink the largest amount of the distilled spirit made from the local wheat. He could hear them call out different names, and the most muscular dock boys from the river port and the most confident young clergy from the church came to the stage. It was, all in all, a very relaxed atmosphere.

As Lawrence looked down at the plaza, he found himself smiling because he spotted among them one small girl.

Her hair, colored in a way that would make her impossible to find if she were to slip in among the wheat fields, was braided today, which was unusual. Her petite stature and slender frame made her seem like a highborn lady, but the way she carried herself made her seem more imposing than anything else.

Sitting by the window, he smiled and thought: There’s the wolf.

On the outside of the plaza, grilled sausages and freshly baked bread—and no alcohol—were being handed out to the spectators, and it was turning out to be a party full of song and revelry. As Lawrence watched Holo knocking back drinks right in the center of it all, he planned their journey to come.

The reason his mind went to his mentor, someone he had not thought about for a very long time, was because the thoughts had happened to spill forth after he opened his mental drawer of travel memories. Or perhaps because he had been rifling through that very drawer for a clue.

As he made his plans for their journey, there was something he needed to think about.

Along one’s travels, a person would likely experience more than joyous occasions. That was still the case when they were allowed to spend their time freely in such a lively city, too, as odd as it sounded. Perhaps the more enjoyable something was, the more pain it could potentially produce.

That was because a life on the road meant trading certainty and routine for flexibility—and stability for freedom.

“Once the festival is over, I believe I will be returning home.”

It was yesterday that the priestess Elsa, the one who had spent quite a lot of time with them as of late, brought up the topic. It happened after they convinced the church and the lumber merchants to come to a compromise over the Salonia tariffs and were on their way back to their lodgings.

Holo had no interest at all in the tariff meetings, so she had gone ahead to the taverns at the town square, leaving Lawrence and Elsa to walk back together. Lawrence understood that she had been waiting for a moment like that to bring up their parting, but there was one thing he still didn’t understand.

“Why not tell Holo first?”

Unbeknownst to him, Holo had come to speak with Elsa while he was occupied with the tariffs. Even when he watched Elsa scold Holo, and how Holo would ignore her, he noticed a closeness between them that he had not seen before.

And so he wondered why the conscientious Elsa did not tell Holo about this beforehand.

It was that thought that brought Lawrence to ask the question, but after giving him a faint smile, she directed her gaze forward again.

“I think we’ve grown too close.”

Elsa was a servant of God who followed a strict set of rules to the letter.

Though that was Lawrence’s impression of her, in that moment, he got a glimpse of her true self.

“I am not used to traveling. I was shaken by a sudden onset of homesickness, that’s all.”

Elsa originally lived a quiet life in a town called Tereo, watching over a church her father left for her. But as the world started turning a harsh gaze on the Church, she had been summoned to help with other churches here and there with managing their assets and privileges, which is how she came to a land as far north as this.

In her hometown, she apparently had three children with a man named Evan, who, in Lawrence’s memory, was still a good-natured milling boy.

“Miss Holo is so sharp. I doubt I can hide my urgency to return home. But…” Elsa gave a long sigh, one that almost made her look smaller. “…I would seem cold and distant if I did not, wouldn’t I?”

It was a common sight when traveling.

One could meet another person who would soon become a delightful drinking buddy; someone they could open up to and feel a deep sense of camaraderie with. But the person might suddenly leave one day, citing family reasons. To them, we are nothing more than another guest in a long stream of guests, and they have a firm routine to which they must return.

They would go back to the warm lights of their hearths, and homes filled with laughter. But those who spent their lives on the road would have to return to their inns alone. And when dawn broke again, they would move on to the next town.

Along her brief travels, Elsa must have tasted that particular flavor of loneliness.

Despite how tightly tied back her hair was, and how it seemed her astute, honey-tinted eyes saw nothing but logic and reason, Lawrence knew that she was much warmer and kinder than the average person.

The reason she found it difficult to bring up leaving was because she did not want to hurt the lone wolf.

“Should I tell her, then? I was just thinking that it was time for us to move on to the next town.”

Elsa felt bad, almost as though she was making a secret deal with Lawrence while Holo was not around, so she did not reply right away. Ultimately, though, she nodded.

The smile she offered him after that was tinged by self-reproach.

“I feel like a child asking for help broaching a difficult topic.”

When she had first met Lawrence, she might have brought up her leaving without much thought or warning, simply because it was the truth.

But Lawrence saw it differently.

“Learning when and how to rely on others is a part of becoming an adult, I think.”

Back when he was hoping to become an independent merchant, he thought becoming an adult meant being able to solve every problem on his own.

It was not long before he learned that was, of course, an ignorant young man’s hubris.

“…You act an upstanding man in your own right, so long as you’re away from Miss Holo.”

Elsa’s exasperated yet spiteful remark earned her an honest smile from Lawrence.

“I rarely have a leg to stand on with her.”

Elsa gave an exaggerated shrug, like a city girl, before ultimately smiling.

“I had not expected much when I sent you the letter. But if our unexpected reunion is anything to go by, I believe we will cross paths again,” she said, not looking in Lawrence’s direction. Nyohhira and Tereo were distant, and neither of them were young anymore, so logical thinking dictated they would never see each other again.

Lawrence glanced at her profile before turning to face forward himself. “If anything, you should say that to Holo,” he said.

He did not know if she looked at him.

As the plaza came into view, they saw that the outside of the liveliest tavern was the site for yet another contest to see who could drink the most.

The silhouette right in the middle of all the commotion, Lawrence knew without a doubt, belonged to his beloved wolf.

“I’m not sure I can find the right words,” Elsa said. Despite that, once they met up with Holo and Tanya, Lawrence asked her what she planned on doing after this, just as they agreed, to which she flawlessly replied that she would be returning to Tereo, and that she had been happy to see Holo again.

Holo did not seem particularly upset about having to part ways with Elsa; she was considerably drunk, after all, and she had to keep up appearances with her pseudo-protégée, Tanya, sitting beside her.

She even promised to meet again in her premature words of parting; she was optimistic, already looking forward to their next reunion.

Tanya and Elsa returned to the church together that night, and Lawrence dragged wobbly Holo back to the inn. It seemed as though Holo was taking the sadness that came with a journey’s unavoidable partings well, only with the help of alcohol, and placing it neatly at her feet.

Once the new day dawned, Holo eagerly went to join the drinking competitions early in the morning, leaving Lawrence to watch her gallant profile from the inn window as he thought about their imminent departure.

Preparing for a departure always started slow, but Lawrence’s primary objective in their journey was to check up on their only daughter, Myuri. He was eager to get moving, and he knew he could not drag his feet.

Yet the reason he found himself thinking of his old mentor was likely because he was a bit apprehensive of what was to come.

It was not because they were yet to determine Myuri and Col’s precise location, nor because a trying winter journey was ahead of them. It was a problem that was more down-to-earth, easier to understand, and perhaps even vexing to some.

What Lawrence was worried about was what would come after the unexpectedly brilliant and lively time they spent with Elsa and Tanya—the heavy, lingering quiet.

The reason his stray cat of a mentor rarely ever interacted with others was less because of the trade advantages it afforded him with the kinds of people he met along his travels, and more out of a more cowardly cautiousness—so that he would not be swallowed by the ebbing tide of loneliness.

His own parting with Lawrence had been sudden. When Lawrence awoke one morning, the man was gone.

The reason he had not dwelled on his unfulfilled desire to travel more with his mentor, despite being abandoned, was because he had been so desperate to survive.

When he first thought back on his mentor after he finally found his rhythm as a traveling merchant, he found that the memories had smoothed over with time, and they had settled into the recesses of his heart without any lingering pain.

Now, he understood that that was his mentor’s unique way of looking out for him.

It had been so casual, but he only understood the weight of that choice after the fact. Though there was room for debate as to whether or not his crotchety old mentor’s way of doing things was correct, he had indeed learned something about decisiveness in that moment. When he looked back on his life, he realized that rather than the basics of trade, this experience was the greatest lesson he had received.

So he, too, knew that he had to pay careful consideration to his traveling companion in much the same way in times like these.

Your student’s still doing well for himself, Lawrence told the memory of his mentor, then downed the rest of his ale.

Outside his window, Holo—who was quite the celebrity in Salonia by now—had her arm linked through that of a sturdy-looking dock loader, and they were drinking their cups dry.

“She’ll be hungover tomorrow, so I guess we’ll leave the day after, or the day after that,” Lawrence murmured and stood, grabbing his coat as he left the room.

Beyond the open window, Holo lifted up her empty cup and basked in the cheers and applause.

“Farewell,” Elsa said briefly, and began walking down the road, headed south. It had been two days since the festival in Salonia had ended, and as the morning came once again, a reluctant air filled the town, a hint that the townsfolk would begrudgingly return to their daily lives in preparation for winter.

She had sensed that if she stayed in town one day longer, the bishop, reputed for being glib, would yet again push some troublesome affair onto her plate, so she had quite bluntly said no to any more requests for work.

Standing next to her was Tanya, who was going to be accompanying her to Tereo. Tanya kept turning around to look at Holo and wave.

At first, Holo had waved back every time, but she soon grew tired of the act and no longer raised her hand.

Yet Lawrence and Holo stood there watching until Tanya and Elsa vanished completely; Holo stared out down the path, a whirl of emotion hidden behind her faint smile.

“What excitement that was, no?”

When they were finally gone, Holo planted her hands on her hips and spoke.

“We were surprisingly busy.”

They had originally left the hot spring village of Nyohhira in order to check on their only daughter, Myuri, who had also left on a journey. But as they followed her trail, they reunited with Elsa, met Tanya, a squirrel spirit who lived on a mountain rumored to be cursed, helped merchants who had been suffocated by a tangled web of debt, and even helped a man from the distant desert—whose true nature was that of a bishop—connect with his own villagers.

All of that had made them quite well-known in Salonia, which led to him selling quite a big load of the sulfur powder, a key element in the hot springs, which Lawrence brought all the way from Nyohhira. They had also managed to replenish some of the smaller value coins that they had been lacking in as of late.

And most importantly, he had managed to spread word of their bathhouse in Nyohhira, Spice and Wolf, to the people of influence in town.

If he could tangibly harvest the fruits of a journey, then this would have been an amazing crop, but the fields after a particularly lush season often seemed starkly barren in comparison.

Even Lawrence, who was no match for Holo even in daily life, could stand toe to toe with the centuries-old wolf in terms of travel experience.

Lawrence had come up with a thorough plan so that the lonely wolf would not get swallowed by the sudden wash of negative emotions that so often caught travelers off guard.

“I suppose…’tis time for us to depart, too.”

Holo raised her arms above her and stretched. She had spent the entirety of the previous day hungover, but woke up rather early this morning, looked out at the morning sun, and ate so much food, it was almost as though she was making up for the day before.

They then went to see Elsa and Tanya off, which brought them to the present moment.

Lawrence knew that the melancholy often struck out of the blue during moments like this.

“But first, there’s a place we need to visit.”

“Oh? Are we drinking more?”

There was a genuine glint in her eye, which brought an unwitting smile to Lawrence’s face.

“No… Well, maybe.”

Holo looked dubiously at Lawrence in response to his ambiguous answer, but her tail began to swish back and forth in delight at the prospect of drinking.

“Remember how the church promised they’d send a bit of wheat from their fields as thanks for mediating on the tariffs?”

“Ah, yes, I remember.”

Holo sounded rather indifferent, but when she had learned that he was having wheat sent to the bathhouse every year as a reminder of their journey to that place, she was overjoyed.

She was never honest with her feelings, but that was what made her so adorable. Lawrence said to her, “We still need to decide which zone will be sending us the wheat.”

“Hmm?”

“It really isn’t enough for us to just ask for the best wheat every year. It might not only be an armful, but we could probably get the wheat that grows from our territory.”

This was more of a formal exchange, not so one about actually getting the best wheat possible, so it was possible to call him an upstanding noble since he was the one receiving the tribute.

Lawrence looked proud, but Holo only reacted with a cold demeanor.

“It matters not where it comes from. You may pick anywhere from this land, and it will not change.”

Perhaps she could not be bothered to go out into the fields, or perhaps she was not fond of the idea to cross the bridge made of boats to get there.

But Lawrence grabbed Holo’s shoulders and began to guide her as he walked.

“Oh, no, we can’t have that. Come on, let’s go.”

“Mm? Dear, what are you—goodness.”

Lawrence urged an annoyed Holo on, and once they returned to the inn, they started getting ready for their departure.

They packed the cart full of things so that they would be ready to leave right after selecting their wheat field, bid good-bye to all those they had gotten to know well, then left town before noon.

Though Lawrence thought Salonia might quiet down after the festival, the town had taken on life in a different sense; all those who had spent their time idling around for the festival were now working diligently to get everything put away before winter.

That meant there were many people crossing the pontoon bridge, causing quite the sway. Holo ultimately found herself hunched over on the cart bed, holding her head in her hands.

On the opposite bank, Lawrence bought a few thinly-sliced pieces of beef shoulder from one of the food stalls, placed it on the driver’s perch, and Holo at last grumpily crawled her way to the front.

“I want wine,” she said as she tore into the beef, still a bit pink in the middle, but Lawrence ignored her as he gazed up at the sky, urging the cart forward.

People shouldering farming tools and carts filled with stacks of straw rushed by them in either direction, but what stood out the most were the girls walking boldly, carrying massive scythes that were bigger than them.

Once the fortress tower came into view, they saw that patches were starting to be harvested from what was a perfect, unbroken blanket of crop just a few days earlier.

“Mm! The delicious aroma of wheat.”

There was a hint of dust, but accompanied by the rich scent of wheat on the calm breeze.

Holo, licking her fingers clean after devouring the meat, allowed the wind to brush gently past her cheek—she seemed perfectly happy again.

“Pick out a spot that looks like it’s producing good wheat. You can choose wherever you want.”

“’Twill only be from an arm’s width, though, no?”

“Pick wherever you want from an arm’s width.”

Holo turned a cold gaze toward Lawrence, but her wolf ears were twitching happily beneath her hood.

As they conversed and made their way toward the fortress, once home to a hero who was said to have defeated a great serpent that lived on this plain, they found the gates were wide open, and crowds of people were streaming in and out.

“This reminds me of the past.”

Holo once ruled over the wheat harvest in a village called Pasloe. It was a village Lawrence had frequented for his trade; it had been a lively little place, since a festival was always held around harvest time.

Though there was no proper festival held here, it being a fortress meant that the location came equipped with a storehouse and a central square, and so at this time of year, when all the farmers were hard at work, Lawrence had heard that it took on the spirit of a festival in its own right.

Some time later, Salonia saw the harvest begin in the area around the fortress. At the same time, wheat that had been harvested a bit earlier was brought in to be husked. Lawrence guessed that it was going to be even livelier than he imagined.

That was because song and drink were easily passed around in places of monotonous labor.

“Oh ho! Now this is a good festival!”

Lawrence smiled as Holo, sitting atop the driver’s perch, began to delight in the sounds of singing and the smell of smoke from cookfires.

Farmers and children hopped onto the cart bed without warning along the way, likely thinking he was one of the passing merchants. Once they entered the fort and the familiar assistant priest, who was overseeing the harvesting and the husking, saw Lawrence and Holo, his eyes went wide with surprise.

“I’m sorry to intrude while you’re so busy. We came to choose the land for our wheat.”

The assistant priest gave them an exasperated look, but he had no time to be angry with them.

“Pick whichever land you like. And feel free to watch the husking.”

The offer to watch was a roundabout way for him to ask them to help with the task, and Holo was surprisingly keen.

“You may use my horse to help, too.”

The assistant priest drew up his shoulders and immediately called out to the villagers.

Lawrence pretended not to notice the little glare he thought the horse gave him now that it had been saddled with the role of pack animal.

When Holo and Lawrence came to the field together, they saw that the harvest had progressed rather far in the fields by the fortress. People were planting stakes in the ground and gathering all the harvested wheat together to be dried.

“They only started harvesting yesterday, or the day before, but they’ve already gathered so much.”

In the distance they spotted young girls with long pigtails, deftly wielding their massive scythes. Just like when it came to grape stomping for wine-making, harvesting the wheat was the time for the local girls to shine.

“Shall we take a little look around?”

“It truly does not matter where we go,” Holo said, yet she still took Lawrence’s hand and set off with light steps.

They occasionally took walks together in Nyohhira, but the village was mostly comprised of narrow paths and a steamy haze, and a step out of the village brought them to a deep wood. It was not since their old journey that they had been able to walk the plains with such extensive vistas as this.

Holo hummed as she walked, smiling at the sight of bewildered frogs and rabbits that had been chased from their sleeping spots among the wheat.

“Should I still see if I can make that fortress ours?”

If they were to turn around on their little footpath, they would see said fortress standing dignified atop the hill. They could take leisurely walks along this path whenever they wanted if they lived there. And people would refer to them as lord and lady as a bonus, making it the peak of their progress in life.

But Holo cackled, her laugh sounding almost like a cough as her shoulders shuddered, and she brushed off some scraps of straw that clung to her shoulder as she said, “Stone buildings are much too cold for me.”

“You’re right. We’re both getting old, anyway.”

Holo gave him a dubious look and patted his back.

“But that rambunctious Myuri would be delighted if we were to make the castle ours.”

That was their only daughter, who would make swords out of sticks and eagerly pretend to play the hero.

But Lawrence found himself taking Holo’s offhand remark into serious consideration.

His daughter, who used to constantly beg for his company, now no longer wanted anything to do with him as she grew. And she was also perfectly old enough for it to be possible that she had gotten married off in a land he knew nothing about. He thought that perhaps he liked it better if they could get this stone fortress for her, so that she could indulge in playing knight to her heart’s content.

As he seriously considered it, he felt a cold stare on him, and he turned to look at the source.

“You fool,” Holo said with a sigh.

Lawrence looked reluctantly at the fortress one more time, then dropped his shoulders.

“You never know when to give up, do you?”

“…We have a lot of very nice things because of that, though.”

“You argue simply to argue.” Holo reached out with a small hand to pinch Lawrence’s cheek and a delighted smile crossed her face. “And what about here for land?”

With the opposite hand, Holo pointed to the corner of one zone.

It was beside a small hedgerow, planted there either to alleviate the wind or for firewood, or perhaps even as a way to demarcate the zone.

“You think it grows best in places like that?” Lawrence asked, impressed; he was a complete novice when it came to field work. Maybe the leaves that fell in the winter served as good fertilizer.

Holo gave a slight shrug. “’Tis simply a spot easy to find.”

“…”

Lawrence looked at Holo in mild disappointment, and his wife, once known as the wisewolf, glared at him.

“Do not underestimate places that are easy to find. The fields change more than you know. Those who till the land change, too. But markers like those stay the same for decades, centuries. When you found that old map in the castle, you must have found some markers that had not changed for a long time, though the shape of the fields themselves change.”

“Now that you mention it, we were there when people were arguing over land boundaries along our old journey. We needed your wisdom to solve that one, too.”

Even if it had been preserved in writing, differences in interpretation and boundaries blurred over the years made for the seed of future dispute.

What Holo had proposed to those villagers in order to avoid such conflict in the future was rather violent—to bring their children to the boundary line, and pinch their cheeks as hard as they could. The children would never forget that moment, and it would prove the standard for when they quarreled over the boundary again in the future.

That said, they could not drag along a poor local child and pinch their cheeks for an arm width’s amount of land, so hedgerows like these served as a good marker.

I see, of course she is the wisewolf, the one who rules over wheat, Lawrence thought, but Holo looked up at him with a hard stare.

“You made it so the wheat would be sent to Nyohhira for decades—no, centuries to come, yes?”

Lawrence had asked the church to send them wheat as part of the landowning rights that they held, not as a bit of thanks.

This was where they could use the power of tax history, an unbroken chain recorded since the beginning of the era of humanity, and the method easily kept Holo’s longevity, one that far surpassed human lives, in mind.

That methodology seemed a bit ridiculous for such a small portion of land, just an armful, but it had been necessary for Lawrence.

That was because it was the centuries-old wisewolf, the one that would live much longer than Lawrence himself, the one that looked exactly like the pretty young girl she was when he first met her.

Lawrence made it so that the memories of their journey would always reach Holo in Nyohhira in the form of wheat.

“You could have picked a better parting gift,” she said, patting her hand on his chest.

And oddly, Lawrence found comfort in how she always seemed one step ahead. “I can never win with you, can I?”

“No, you cannot,” she chuckled.

Lawrence took her hand and spun her around.

“Now then, let’s put this zone down on parchment, and help with husking and whatnot in the meanwhile.”

“Do not hurt your back again.”

“Ah.”

“Well, if that happened, I suppose I would not mind. We would have to remain in this lively town, and I will simply have to continue drinking.”

“They’re probably going to start asking you to pay if you did that.”

Holo was famous in Salonia, and her spirited drinking earned her free booze here and there, but she was dangerously close to overstaying her welcome.

“All you do is think of stingy profits.”

“When I think about how much I’ve spent on alcohol for you, I start to wonder if we should’ve made a vineyard instead of a bathhouse.”

“You fool!” Holo took the hand she had intwined with Lawrence’s and smacked his back. “Then we would be stuck drinking wine all the time!”

What she said did not exactly sound like a joke, so Lawrence had no choice but to stand down.

“And all sorts of drinks find their way to Nyohhira,” she added. “Everything tastes good whilst soaking in the baths.”

Elsa would surely scold her again if she heard that, but Lawrence knew he was partially responsible for always treating her to a drink, wanting to see her happy.

“We should see if we can find an alcohol spring instead.”

“’Twould be most ideal, yes.”

Even though their motives were likely not quite on the same page, Lawrence did not point that out; he only tugged her hand to lead her back to the fortress with a shake of his head.

Songs sung as monotonous manual labor was being done were repetitions of easy-to-remember stanzas and melodies. Both Lawrence and Holo quickly learned the tune, took their own tools for husking—two sticks connected together by a string—and joined in the villagers singing as they worked the wheat.

Holo had spent centuries in Pasloe, but she only ever helped with the harvest work herself a few times in the distant past; she had simply watched in the times after that.

The reason she quickly gave up husking the wheat was less out of boredom and more out of her inherent curiosity—she wanted to see what the other work was like.

She joined in with the ones who bit into the harvested wheat to see if it had dried completely and helped out with picking chaff and other contaminants from the wheat in a big washtub. There had been a particular trick to shaking out the washtub, and the other girls there giggled at her as she ended up shaking her hips more than the tub.

The harvesting work in the fortress would last for more than one or two days. And so, instead of persevering throughout the entire thing, people often changed jobs or stepped out briefly, giving the sense that they would carry on with this work in a relaxed manner for a long time.

Just as Lawrence found himself getting lost in the rhythm of the monotonous work, one of the villagers asked to switch with him, and he reluctantly handed over his husking sticks.

“Now, then.” He glanced around the area to find Holo missing from the lively castle garden. He asked around and learned that once she was done helping pick out bad-quality grains from a mountain of the wheat, she had gone into the main house.

Though it was getting closer to the height of autumn, it was still rather hot when the sun was high in the sky. Lawrence wondered if she had worn herself out and was taking a rest since she had such a terrible hangover the day before. Holo was typically slothful, so she would sometimes push herself too far when it came to work like this and suddenly run out of energy.

Despite his worry, Lawrence thought she was likely all right if she had taken a break of her own accord, so he decided to wrap up the matter on the delivery of their goods. He fished out some parchment from their things and made his way into the great room, where the assistant priest was watching over everything.

“Have you chosen a field?”

The assistant priest, who had been writing down the amount of wheat harvested and how the harvest was progressing in charcoal on a large wooden board leaning up against one of the walls in the great room, turned to Lawrence, clearly not bothered by the charcoal smeared on his face.

The church in Salonia presently owned the privileges to the land once ruled over by one called the Hero Voragine, but owning those rights did not necessarily mean things would always go smoothly.

There was still the matter of managing the day-to-day activities on the land, bringing someone in to manage the harvest period, making sure it was collected for taxes, being conscious of the worst and best of the harvest, and trying to avoid being scammed or subject to any injustices.

The assistant priest, who seemed to have been left in charge of all those things, had been very kind to Lawrence and his entourage when they came to visit in relation to the tariff troubles. That was perhaps because he had been hoping to hand off some of the work to Lawrence, but when he saw just how exhausted he looked, he had a feeling that might happen.

“Yes, we found a nice spot, so I came to inform you.”

Aside from the board, where the assistant priest had written down reports that came in from the villagers and the apprentice clergy boys diligently copied the sheer volume of numbers down onto paper, there was a rough map of the territory drawn in charcoal, and Lawrence pointed to it.

“The field right next to the first shrubs southwest from the fortress.”

“There, yes. I’m glad you picked a spot easy to find. All the quarrelling over zone divisions causes us headaches throughout the year.”

The easy-to-find point that Holo had indicated had apparently been very important.

The assistant priest took two of the deeds the bishop had given Lawrence, then turned to the apprentice clergy boy and named several villagers and ordered him to write down a zone about a pace wide where those villagers’ locations intersected.

“These privileges become yours in God’s name.” The assistant priest looked between the two pieces of parchment and handed one back to Lawrence as he spoke.

“Glory be to God,” Lawrence said.

The assistant priest exhaled in a way that could be either taken as a sigh or a sign of agreement, then rolled his head around his neck and shoulders.

“Thank you for all of your hard work,” Lawrence added.

“I wish I could have taken a dip in the hot springs you built in Salonia.”

“You’re always welcome at our bathhouse,” Lawrence said with a smile.

The assistant priest grimaced. “Aren’t the hot springs in Nyohhira supposed to be a secret? I heard only archbishops are allowed there.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. But even if it were true, then I suppose we would be welcoming you in the near future.”

Though he was young, the assistant priest was canny enough to grow a beard to give himself a mature and dignified air. His lips stretched into a grin under his messy whiskers.

“I will be sure to send the wheat your way every year.”

“You have my thanks.”

Lawrence was certain this assistant priest would reach great heights and become a regular at their bathhouse.

As that thought crossed his mind, he rolled up the parchment and tucked it away in his pocket.

“Where has your wife gone, by the way? Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

The assistant priest seemed keen to offer they stay here for the night, but as they stood here speaking, there was a line outside the door of people waiting to report to him.

Lawrence replied briefly, “We’re hoping to leave before sunset and follow the river downstream.”

“I see. Lovely.”

The smile on his face suggested he was relieved there was one less thing he had to worry about on his plate.

“Thank you.”

Lawrence gave a nod, which the assistant priest returned with a polite bow, and he was already back into work mode. Lawrence left the great room, sliding past all the people waiting in line, then planted his hands on his hips with a sigh.

“Now, where has that Holo gone?”

The old fortress was not small by any means. Though the sun was still high in the sky, the light did not reach the depths of the building, and a dreary ambiance settled in the darkest corners.

He doubted she had gotten lost and was crying somewhere in this big fortress, but he did wonder if she had suddenly gotten emotional out of the blue.

Lawrence had brought Holo to the lively harvesting work area so that she would not be suddenly overwhelmed by the gaping hole left by the busy and exciting time spent with Elsa and Tanya. Jumping from the roof of a five-story building would surely cause great bodily harm, but jumping down to the four-story building next door, then to the three-story one, then the two-story storehouse and then onto the street would make it possible to walk home.

He thought it would be nice to take a breather with the lively harvest workers, then return to the river and take a boat downstream. They would be awash in the lively atmosphere—not just the shanties sung by the captain, but calls from those pulling the boat downstream, and excited greetings from those traversing the roads that ran alongside the river. There were also regular checkpoints built along the river, so they would surely find vendors in those places. And then, once they came to the port on the sea at the mouth of the river, that would provide even further relief.

Elsa would surely tell Lawrence that he was coddling Holo again, but he believed it was his life’s work to do whatever he could to help her.

And as of late, Lawrence had grown fond of her demure squirming as he catered to her needs.

He searched the building with those thoughts in mind, and eventually heard that Holo had ventured into the third-floor storage area with a mug of booze in hand.

He passed the women sitting around the hearth on the second floor doing the mending, stepped through men who were reattaching polished scythe blades to their handles, weaved through children sitting on the stairs, picking out whatever looked edible from the poor-quality grains, and headed for the third floor.

There were plenty of people busily going to and fro on the third floor, lending to a constant buzz throughout the area; Lawrence doubted she was here moping.

But as he wandered, lost, not sure exactly where the storage room was, he saw four men emerge carrying a pot meant for making food for all the people who had come to work—it was big enough for a fully-grown adult to use as a bath. Behind them was Holo, a stack of three pots on her head and a spoon large enough to hold a baby under her left arm.

“…What are you doing?”

Lawrence’s eyes widened when he saw her peculiar dress; if someone told him that she was wearing a costume for a festival, he would believe them. Holo, carrying herself in a strange fashion so that the pots on her head would not fall, jerked her chin toward the storage room.

“Do not just stand there. The spears for roasting the meat are in there. Bring them out. Put all the firewood and charcoal you can find into the tub!”

That was all Holo said to him as she followed the men carrying the large pot, making sure the ones on her head didn’t topple over.

Sitting by the door to the storage was a half-drunk mug of ale; she had likely been resting there when the men came by, and so she had jumped back into work.

The reason she was so enthused was likely because she was expecting to get a tasty meal out of it.

He had fully assumed she would be sitting by a window or in a dark corner of the storage room, so he was relieved to see that this was not the case. He did as he was told and carried as much as he could bear down the stairs.

Merchants who came while the villagers were working, aiming to purchase this year’s wheat at its peak, also came by, and the alcohol and meat they brought made their lunch break feel just like a mini festival.

A whole pig had been skewered and was being roasted over a makeshift stove in the garden. Thick plumes of smoke billowed into the air whenever a drop of fat landed on the hot coals and wafted over the people as they sliced off thin pieces with a knife as big as an adult’s arm. The meat was then messily placed on some bread and handed around to the others. Holo, soot staining her cheek, added plenty of mustard onto one of the smoky pieces of pork before biting into it.

Her tail was fully fluffed under her clothes in her eagerness, but no one noticed in all the hubbub.

Lawrence used his own finger to wipe the soot from her cheek, and bit into his own portion.

So much meat had been shaved off the pig, yet despite the fact that it had been worked nearly down to the bone, it kept spinning above the smoldering coals.

It was then that Lawrence took his horse’s reins in hand, nudged a reluctant Holo, and they left the fortress together.

Outside the fortress were people lying in the grass, taking a break after their meal, and children chasing away the birds that had come in search of grains of wheat that had not quite made it to the fortress with peals of laughter.

Holo was lying down not on the driver’s perch, but in the cart bed. She basked in the sun as it still hung high in the sky, her ears flitting about, listening to the commotion, and patted her stomach in satisfaction.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Lawrence said as he drove the cart forward.

“Fool,” came the quiet reply, but her speech was already mumbled. “Yaaawn… Where are we going now?”

She was still lying down as she spoke. She was clearly ready to fall asleep.

With a shrug, Lawrence replied, “We’ll head back to the river near town and take a boat downstream.”

“Mm…”

“You can sleep once we get on the boat. Try to stay awake until we get there. I’d hate for you to fall into the river because you nodded off.”

He didn’t hear her call him a fool, so he glanced over his shoulder to see she had curled up and was sleeping soundly.

“My goodness,” he said with a small smile, readjusting the grip on the reins and urging the cart forward.

Everything had gone according to plan so far.

He hid that thought beneath his smile as they traversed the road they came in on, and when they arrived at the river port, Holo woke up in a better mood than he thought.

“Ah, what excellent horsemanship,” Holo remarked.

She spoke up after stepping on board the boat because she was impressed by the skill of the rider that would be delivering the horses of all the boat’s passengers downstream. There were about ten horses in total, and the rider had them dashing ahead.

“Will we be retrieving the cart on the way back?” She glanced back at the boat tied to the back of the boat they were presently riding on and asked Lawrence. That particular boat was filled with their belongings, not the cart itself.

“No. We’ll be hitting up a port town once we reach the end of the river, and we’ll be able to get the same kind of cart when we get there. It costs a lot of money to bring it with us, you see.”

“Mm. You are clever, as always. How convenient.”

It was likely because he had money orders in mind—something that let a person walk around without any coins in their pocket—which led him to think of something similar.

“Oh, right. I need to tell you something. Just in case the boat tips over.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t care if we lose the sulfur and whatever else. Just don’t ever let go of this bag, okay?’

One bag, purposely separated from the others on the cart, now sat at Lawrence’s and Holo’s feet.

Inside was a pouch stuffed full of small coins they had gotten in Salonia.

“You fool. I will not sink to the bottom of the river with such a thing. If the boat tips over, we should try to save this instead,” Holo said, patting a small barrel.

It was whisky they had gotten a significant discount for in Salonia—the drink had been nicknamed fire water.

“We will be able to reach port without drowning if we drink the contents and hold onto it, no?”

“…So long as you don’t black out.”

“Water is essential for sobering up.”

Despite his exasperation, Lawrence decided he would quite enjoy seeing Holo drifting happily down the river.

“Right, well, we’re off.”

“Mm.”

After making the final loading checks, the boatman undid the rope on the docks, dipped the pole into the water, and the boat slowly parted from the riverbank. Altogether, there were six boats headed for the sea, and each one was filled with people and possessions. Lawrence and Holo had gotten special treatment for doing such good work and earning fame in Salonia, which meant they got the front boat all to themselves.

As he thought back on how different things were now compared to when he was a traveling merchant before meeting Holo, he could not help the smile that crossed his face.

“What is it?”

They sat on a thick blanket of wool, Holo nestled between Lawrence’s legs, ready to fall asleep at any moment, and she felt him laugh on her back, and so she asked.

“I was just thinking about how luxurious our journey has been.”

Holo’s reddish-amber eyes went wide before creating half-moons to complement her contented smile. “Journeys such as this one suit me best.”

“Indeed.”

He placed his hand on her head, and she rubbed her head against it, demanding that he pet her more. Her wolf’s dignity was nowhere to be found.

The weather was nice, and since it had not rained in quite a while, the river was calm and gently carried the boats downstream. The afternoon sun was warm, the faint song of the boatman filled the air around them, and the lively working sounds of those in the fields along the river were a gentle tickle in the ear.

While this indulgence was rather different from the excitement of a roaring fire, it was accompanied by a joy that came with traveling—much like eating one ripe grape at a time and savoring each bite.

Holo soon fell asleep again, her lips occasionally moving with leisure as she dreamed.

Lawrence wanted to say that everything was going as planned, but after they drifted for a while down the river, he realized that the boat was moving a lot slower than he had anticipated. He started to worry that they wouldn’t reach the coast by nightfall; when he asked the boatman, the boatman explained that they would have had to take an early-morning boat in order to reach the port by evening, and that the only boats departing after noon that could make the journey were ones during melt season, or when it had rained upstream.

The boatman suggested they get a room at an inn in the large checkpoint just before they reach the sea.

Holo would surely assume that the body of water she saw when she awoke was the ocean, meaning she might scold him for his poor judgment. But he could not change the flow of the river, and the boatman told him that the checkpoint at which they planned on mooring was a rather lively river port, so Lawrence adjusted his expectations—perhaps it was not all that bad to spend the night at a nice riverside inn.

Warmed by the sun, Lawrence took Holo, her soot smell and all, into his embrace and closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, it was sundown.

They were still on the river when they awoke, so Holo gave Lawrence an earful, just as he expected, yet she watched over the buzz of activity unique to the river port with delight.

Lawrence took only their valuables from the ship, such as the pouch full of coins, had a branch from one of Salonia’s companies watch after their things, and secured a room for himself and Holo in the meantime.

Rumors of their exploits had reached the port already, so that had been easy.

There seemed to still be quite a bit of distance to the ocean; so when he turned west, to where the ocean was supposed to be, Lawrence found himself faced with a terrifyingly vast open sky, a sensation only amplified by the featureless geography. The clear indigo of the night sky mixing with the fiery sunset was a stunning sight. As they sat at one of the riverside taverns, Holo had been so entranced by it that she almost forgot to drink any of the ale she had been served.

One could see a similar sight in Nyohhira by climbing to the top of a mountain, but being so close to the sea, which was essentially nothingness, the sky most certainly felt much bigger.

In previous travels, both Lawrence and Holo had gotten to see the sea, but the scenery changed with the time and place. Surely, once they reached the end of the river and came to the port, the sun setting over the sea would look much different from this.

“Your food’s getting cold,” Lawrence said, biting into his skewered trout, but Holo simply continued to stare at the setting sun, not even looking at him or nodding in response. It was rare that she was expressionless like this in front of him.

The way she looked made her seem entirely defenseless, as though every layer of her heart, right down to the thin film around her core, had been peeled away.

It was a strange expression—one that was not quite sad, yet hard to call optimistic—and Lawrence was certain that he would never be able to understand the feelings behind it. Those emotions belonged only to those who had lived for centuries, only when experiencing a sight that had not changed in hundreds of years.

And Lawrence had a feeling, too, that they were not happy feelings for her.

All he could do at times like these was just stay by her side and understand the plan he had painstakingly laid out to bring Holo joy was nothing before the overwhelming forces of nature.

He stared at the smudge on the table, created by a tear that had suddenly spilled from Holo’s expressionless eyes, as he swallowed the tender, salty meat of his trout.

The only reason he could still taste it was not only because he knew how to show his understanding for the world’s providence after becoming an adult. It was because now that his life was half over, he was starting to accept—reluctantly in defeat, even—that in the face of the immutable truths of the world, one could not stand one’s ground, only let the flow take over.

“Your fish is getting cold,” Lawrence said again, though not out of concern.

It was his way of showing defiance in the face of the flow of the immutable truths of the world.

Holo, standing in a perfectly still, mirror-like lake, could only find the shore by the help of those who boldly stepped in and caused ripples.

Though there was still some distance to the shore, when she turned to look at Lawrence, a relieved smile crossed her face.

“Yes, it smells good. ’Twould be a waste to let it go cold.”

There were glimpses of unease behind Holo’s expression, like she was taking in the scent in a dream. But when she, at last, hesitantly bit into her fish, she finally understood that this was not a dream.

“I think they’ll be playing music soon.”

Lawrence gestured with his chin to an open stall by the river, where some traveling musicians were preparing their instruments to busk. At the checkpoint, visible from where they sat, boats came in one after the other, and out of them came a stream of people on land eager to end their day with a cold pint.

Unlike cities encased in walls, the rules in riverside ports were lax. As he looked out at the lack of open seats, he could easily imagine how the lively chatter lasted well into the night every day.

“The fun’s just beginning,” Lawrence said.

Holo, consuming half her trout in a single bite, head-first, guts and all, looked up at him as the bones crunched between her teeth.

After swallowing, she devoured the rest of the fish with her second bite and licked her lips.

“I’m going to burp,” she said.

Lawrence frowned at her, and she gave him an ironic, lopsided grin before pointing her skewer at him.

“Not because of the fish. Because of you.”

Before Lawrence could ask what she meant, Holo took a large swig of ale, placed her wooden mug down on the table with a satisfied hum, and immediately ordered more.

“Of course ’tis because of you,” she repeated, and finally belched loudly in quite an unladylike fashion.

Truly satisfied, as though she had managed to dislodge a bone from her throat, she turned to look at him.

“I spend all my days subject to your doting, and then I find that those days have come to an end.”

Holo reached for a new trout skewer, bringing it up to her lips in a kiss, then mercilessly bit into it.

“Thus begins again a journey of two lonely people.”

Despite how packed her cheeks were with fish, she didn’t let a single morsel spill out.

After a gulp, she brought up some more ale to her lips.

“You brought me all the way to those fields when you could have simply selected whatever you liked. We took part in the lively harvesting activities, then took a boat down the river toward the sea. And now look at you; how stingy you were about traveling by land when we left Nyohhira. Hmm… But perhaps you’ve simply injured your back, which would explain the stiffness.”

Holo smiled, genuinely delighted, before letting out a sigh.

When she turned to look back at the sky, the final vestiges of the setting sun threatening to be swallowed by night, her face was no longer expressionless.

“I know you are doting on me because you are worried, giving me constant joy in our travels so that I do not succumb to despair.”

Her eyelids lowered, then shut as she tilted her head, fondly reliving her memories, before opening her eyes again.

“And what joy does it bring me. Even the ones that do not quite hit their mark and make me irritated.”

Lawrence raised his hands in an admission of defeat, and Holo nodded to him like a benevolent queen.

“Every day I travel with you is a joy, thanks to that. But ’tis strange, because I find the dull moments just as delightful.”

“Uh…hmm?”

Lawrence murmured in response, and Holo asked a passing tavern girl for more meat.

“I never noticed it when we were in the bathhouse, much less when I first met you.”

Holo placed the skewer in her mouth and began nibbling on it.

“Even the sadness, the loneliness, the overwhelming pain I feel in the quiet moments between journeys brings me joy.”

“That’s, um…huh?”

Holo gave a shy smile in response to Lawrence’s bewilderment.

“Isn’t it strange? What is sad is sad, and what is painful is painful, but all the ups and downs, and even the depths of the abyss, where I sit with my knees to my chest—I find delight in it all.”

She was clearly not saying this to bring Lawrence peace of mind, so he could only watch her, completely blank faced. Pork sausage was brought to their table, and Holo surprisingly cut Lawrence a piece, so he slowly brought it to his mouth.

The bursting fat was sweet, and he found himself desperately wanting a sip of ale.

“’Twas only after meeting you that I learned to enjoy everything life has to offer, I think,” she said, biting into the sausage with an innocence that rivaled her daughter, Myuri. “I suppose ’tis like finding bitter ale delicious. So…mm. I will not tell you to stop doting on me. In a way, by marrying me, you made a promise to dote on me for the rest of your life.”

Despite how bluntly she spoke the words, having her state it in such a clear manner only made the former merchant happy, considering how he understood the joy in another keeping to a contract.

“And so, I have a request for you. Days filled with joy do bring me joy, yes, but I want to feel the full range of sadness when I am by your side, as well. I want to enjoy whatever emotion comes to me when our exciting days spent with that vexing girl and the fluffy, annoying squirrel suddenly come to an end. I want to find delight in sadness that has no outlet, in finding a spot to sulk and mope.”

That seemed unhealthy to Lawrence, but what told him it was not was how he saw the minstrels finish tuning their instruments. Each headed for different taverns—their own territory, presumably—greeted the customers, and began taking song requests.

At some point in his travels, Lawrence had learned one thing:

Songs played for money were not meant to rile up a crowd—they were sad tunes.

“Because I know I am safe when I cry beside you.”

Living was not a series of constant joys. But that did not mean it was pain that constantly plagued faulty people, as the clergy spoke of it.

Having both joy and despair at opposite ends of the spectrum meant that they could find delight in the world in all different shades and hues.

“Shall we request a song?”

Holo called the minstrel over and jerked her chin at Lawrence. Lawrence, completely at Holo’s whim, hurriedly pulled out some coins and placed them in the minstrel’s hand.

“What sort of tune shall I play for you?”

This minstrel was unlike the ones who came to Nyohhira—he was on the shifty side, quite possibly the type to commit petty thievery.

Holo said to the minstrel, “Play us the most upbeat tune you have. One that will deafen me.”

The minstrel’s eyes widened in surprise before a dauntless smile crossed his face.

It was his way of telling her that he was happy to take on the challenge.

Fortunately, a crowd of sailors had just thronged into the tavern.

It was the perfect opportunity to spark the crowd.

“Lend me your ears! This tune will be the envy of legends!”

He strummed his instrument, and the customers turned to look.

When he began to stomp his feet, the excitable members of the crowd began to join in.

There was visible concern on a serving girl’s face. She was likely worried about whether or not the platform over the river would hold. The stakes that sprouted from the river began to creak under the pressure, causing little ripples in the water.

As the raucous uproar grew, Lawrence and Holo instead found a quiet moment between them.

“I believe my ears will be ringing by the time we go to sleep tonight,” Lawrence said, exhausted.

“What? The one thing I can find no joy in is a hangover,” replied Holo calmly.

Lawrence shot her a look—perhaps she need not drink so much, then. But she gave him a pure smile and tilted her head; she deliberately downed her ale before asking for another mug.

Lawrence and Holo’s journey would continue.

The hour would grow late, and no matter how cold the wind blew, they would not be alone.

And the sun would rise in the east, yet again, on the morrow.