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Authors: Hasekura Isuna
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me.”
Holo sighed. Lawrence gripped the reins tightly and stifled a frustrated expression.
“Still, have you ever been attacked by wolves in the mountains?”
It was a strange feeling being asked such a question by a girl with ears, fangs, and a tail. He was having a conversation with a wolf—the same wolf whose presence in the mountains he feared.
“I have. Perhaps...eight times.”
“They’re quite difficult to handle, are they not?”
“They are. Wild dogs I can handle, but wolves are a problem.”
“That’s because they want to eat lots of humans, to get their—”
“I’m sorry, all right? So stop.”
The third time Lawrence had been set upon by wolves, he was part of a caravan.
Two of the men in the caravan had been unable to clear the mountains. Their cries echoed in Lawrence’s ears even now.
His face was expressionless.
“Oh ..”
Apparently the perceptive Wisewolf had figured it out.
“I am sorry,” said a contrite Holo, slumping, almost shrinking.
Lawrence had been attacked by wolves many times. With the memories of the encounters swirling in his head, he was in no mood to answer.
Splish, splosh , went the horse’s hooves in the muddy road.
”...Are you angry?”
Such a crafty wolf—she must have known that if she asked like I had, he’d be unable to truthfully answer that he was angry.
So he answered. “Yes, I’m angry.”
Holo looked up at Lawrence in silence. When he looked back at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pouting—it was charming enough that he almost forgave her.
“I am angry. No more jokes like that,” he finally turned to her and said.
Holo nodded resolutely and looked ahead. She now seemed quite meek.
After a period of silence she spoke again. “Wolves live only in the mountains, but dogs have lived with humans. That’s why wolves make tougher opponents.”
He probably should have ignored her, but doing so would make later conversation difficult. He turned slightly in her direction and gave a sign that he was listening.
“Hm?”
“Wolves only know that they are hunted by humans, and that they are terrifying creatures. So we are always thinking about what to do when they enter our forest.”
Holo stared straight ahead as she spoke, as serious as Lawrence had ever seen her.
He didn’t think she’d made that story up; he nodded, slowly.
But there was something in her vagueness that worried him.
“Did you ever—”
But Holo stopped him before he could continue. “There are some things I simply cannot answer.”
“Oh.” Lawrence chided himself for speaking without thinking ahead. “Sorry.”
Holo then smiled. “Now we’re even.”
A twenty-five-year-old was not, it seemed, a match for a Wisewolf.
There was no further conversation, but neither was there any bad air between the two. The horse plodded along, and soon the day had passed and night fell.
A merchant never continued his travels after dark when it had rained. If the wagon became stuck in the mud, seven times out of ten it meant that the goods would have to be abandoned.
To turn a steady profit as a traveling merchant one had to minimize losses, and the road was full of dangers.
Holo suddenly spoke, nestled in the fur pile beneath a sky she’d promised would be clear the next day.
“The worlds we live in, you and I, are very different,” she said.
Chapter 3
The river Slaude meanders slowly across the plains. It is said to trace the path left behind by a giant snake that slithered from the mountains to the west through the plains to the eastern sea, and its wide, slow path is an essential transportation route for the region.
Pazzio is a large port town situated near the midpoint of the river. Not far upstream lie large fields of wheat; still farther are thickly forested mountains. Logs are floated downstream year-round; barges carrying wheat or corn, depending on the season, navigate up and down the river.
That alone would be enough to
Holo sighed. Lawrence gripped the reins tightly and stifled a frustrated expression.
“Still, have you ever been attacked by wolves in the mountains?”
It was a strange feeling being asked such a question by a girl with ears, fangs, and a tail. He was having a conversation with a wolf—the same wolf whose presence in the mountains he feared.
“I have. Perhaps...eight times.”
“They’re quite difficult to handle, are they not?”
“They are. Wild dogs I can handle, but wolves are a problem.”
“That’s because they want to eat lots of humans, to get their—”
“I’m sorry, all right? So stop.”
The third time Lawrence had been set upon by wolves, he was part of a caravan.
Two of the men in the caravan had been unable to clear the mountains. Their cries echoed in Lawrence’s ears even now.
His face was expressionless.
“Oh ..”
Apparently the perceptive Wisewolf had figured it out.
“I am sorry,” said a contrite Holo, slumping, almost shrinking.
Lawrence had been attacked by wolves many times. With the memories of the encounters swirling in his head, he was in no mood to answer.
Splish, splosh , went the horse’s hooves in the muddy road.
”...Are you angry?”
Such a crafty wolf—she must have known that if she asked like I had, he’d be unable to truthfully answer that he was angry.
So he answered. “Yes, I’m angry.”
Holo looked up at Lawrence in silence. When he looked back at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pouting—it was charming enough that he almost forgave her.
“I am angry. No more jokes like that,” he finally turned to her and said.
Holo nodded resolutely and looked ahead. She now seemed quite meek.
After a period of silence she spoke again. “Wolves live only in the mountains, but dogs have lived with humans. That’s why wolves make tougher opponents.”
He probably should have ignored her, but doing so would make later conversation difficult. He turned slightly in her direction and gave a sign that he was listening.
“Hm?”
“Wolves only know that they are hunted by humans, and that they are terrifying creatures. So we are always thinking about what to do when they enter our forest.”
Holo stared straight ahead as she spoke, as serious as Lawrence had ever seen her.
He didn’t think she’d made that story up; he nodded, slowly.
But there was something in her vagueness that worried him.
“Did you ever—”
But Holo stopped him before he could continue. “There are some things I simply cannot answer.”
“Oh.” Lawrence chided himself for speaking without thinking ahead. “Sorry.”
Holo then smiled. “Now we’re even.”
A twenty-five-year-old was not, it seemed, a match for a Wisewolf.
There was no further conversation, but neither was there any bad air between the two. The horse plodded along, and soon the day had passed and night fell.
A merchant never continued his travels after dark when it had rained. If the wagon became stuck in the mud, seven times out of ten it meant that the goods would have to be abandoned.
To turn a steady profit as a traveling merchant one had to minimize losses, and the road was full of dangers.
Holo suddenly spoke, nestled in the fur pile beneath a sky she’d promised would be clear the next day.
“The worlds we live in, you and I, are very different,” she said.
Chapter 3
The river Slaude meanders slowly across the plains. It is said to trace the path left behind by a giant snake that slithered from the mountains to the west through the plains to the eastern sea, and its wide, slow path is an essential transportation route for the region.
Pazzio is a large port town situated near the midpoint of the river. Not far upstream lie large fields of wheat; still farther are thickly forested mountains. Logs are floated downstream year-round; barges carrying wheat or corn, depending on the season, navigate up and down the river.
That alone would be enough to
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