Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
In point of fact, in Taussig the hunters and mountain men had put forth an all-out effort to tend to Fran's wounds. The reason they had returned before she was fully healed was that the villagers would not stop fussing over her. Holo, who so hated being worshipped as a god, was delighted to discover someone who loathed attention as much as she did.
It had been three days since they had taken Fran and put the village of Taussig behind them. They had arrived in Kerube the previous night and had all immediately made for their beds—save Lawrence, who Hugues dragged downstairs to explain the events in Taussig.
"But what was behind the angel legend after all?"
Lawrence popped a piece of honeyed fruit into his mouth before answering. "An avalanche."
"An avalanche?" Hugues repeated, stunned.
"That's right. A huge volume of snow from the mountainside slid into the lake, making a gigantic wave that crashed into the waterfall. The sound of the heavenly army's march was actually the sound of rushing snow."
"S-so then, what about the beast's howl?"
On this point, Lawrence himself was not entirely certain. But of all the possibilities, he chose the most likely one. "That was how it sounded after bouncing off of the lake. An echo, you see. This time it came from the sound of the men fighting. I'm sure sometime in the distant past there was some similar disturbance that caused it."
Of course, the climax had been Holo's voice, he added.
It made an amusingly good story, though—the sound of a battle calling down an angel. Going by Fran's guess, it might have originally been the sound of a strong wind echoing off the mountain that first caused the avalanche.
Yet given his way, Lawrence liked the first story better.
"The world certainly is full of wonders."
"That's certain enough," said Lawrence with a rueful grin, and Hugues's shoulders shook with mirth.
"Still, if everything's settled now, perhaps I ought to visit Taussig myself sometime. Though I doubt I'll be as brave or bold as Miss Holo," Hugues joked.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
The question of who it would be at this late hour was soon answered.
Hugues stood from his chair with a chastened grin and walked over to the door.
Unlike the wilderness where you could sleep where you liked and make noise where you liked, within the town walls there were rules regarding the hours when candles could be kept burning. With buildings raised so close to one another, a stray flame left burning in one could easily set another alight.
It seemed the town guard had noticed the light coming from the candle on the table.
"Well, then, I'll take my leave," said Lawrence to Hugues's back as he stood up. If he waited for Hugues to return, he had the distinct impression that they would simply move to another room where he would be pressed for more stories, so he decided to make his retreat while he could.
He took his cup of mulled wine with him and climbed the stairs.
The steps creaked under his weight, and he followed the handrail to their room.
From the entrance, it looked like a small and rather poor building, but farther inside it became clear that it was a perfectly respectable four-story trading company.
Normally in trading companies, the higher in the building you were, the lower your status, so Lawrence and his companions being housed on the second floor was proof of Hugues's respect for them.
Making his way to the room where Holo and Col were sleeping, Lawrence noticed a sliver of light leaking into the hallway.
It was standard for burglars to enter from the second floor.
Lawrence peeked into the half-open door and saw that it was Fran's room.
"Yes?" His peek was immediately noticed.
She was human but well used to traveling alone and a world apart from a mere town girl.
"I saw the light and thought there might be a burglar."

Output:
It was the sort of story that was swapped over drinks, but considering what they had just been through, it seemed appropriate.
"It's cold."
"You should soothe fresh wounds with cold and old ones with heat."
It seemed a rough method but probably an effective one. Lawrence preferred not to need the knowledge in the first place, if possible.
Chaplain—Fran had that title.
"I had always thought to end my travels once I saw the angel."
Blue moonlight streamed in through the open window, and her body itself seemed about ready to turn into light motes and disappear.
She was luridly wrapped in bandages around her middle and over her shoulder, and the fever she had borne in Taussig had broken. And yet not once had Fran appeared even slightly weak.
Had she been unable to manage at least this much, she never would have been employed as a chaplain, responsible for the faith and morale of an entire troop.
"By travels, you mean...?" Lawrence asked.
Fran chuckled slightly. Perhaps it was a bit embarrassing for her. "I was a girl obsessed, I realize now."
She had planned to die.
The bloodstained scriptures and the letters pressed between the pages.
Fran's determination to find the legend of the angel could also have been called an obsession.
If those with claws and fangs are the first to die, then she truly might have been the very vanguard. And it was precisely that quality that had finally led her to the angel. But what she had thought at the end of her journey, Lawrence did not know. He did not know, but her face was beautifully peaceful now.
"We still haven't gotten that map from you," Lawrence prodded, which Fran turned away at, pouting.
The line of her chin in the moonlight shone like a sharpened knife. "More than once I've seen merchants venture out onto the battlefield in their efforts to be repaid."
"So are you saying I'll have to pass through the gates of heaven to get it?"
Fran closed her eyes, catlike. As Lawrence approached the bed, she opened them and fixed their dark pupils on him.
"Unfortunately, the scriptures say it's easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a merchant to reach heaven," Lawrence said.
He reached across her and gently closed the window. Her face had looked slightly pained in the moonlight that shone through the open space.
"I'm afraid the same is true for me. I couldn't pass through the gates."
"So how about it, then? Helping others is a good way to atone for sins."
Fran smiled and then sunk slowly deeper into the covers.
It was probably still fairly painful for her to move, and she held up a hand to stop Lawrence from helping.
"If I let a merchant help me, who knows how many maps I'll end up having to draw." Her mischievous smile reminded him of a certain someone.
But then the supine Fran reached her right hand out. The same hand that had reached for the angel that appeared at the top of the falls.
"Payment for one," said Fran. She had probably picked up such affectations in her time with the mercenary troop.
Lawrence did not mind it. "I'll pay that." He took her hand and held it firmly.
If she had been a simple town girl, this was where he would have gone to kiss it. But Fran had no need for such things.
"God's protection be with you."
Having received such a meaningful blessing, Lawrence released her hand and tipped an invisible hat.
Fran nodded and slowly closed her eyes.
But as Lawrence turned to quietly leave the room, she spoke to him.
"Back then..."
"Hmm?"
"Back then, on the falls..."
Lawrence turned around. "On the falls?" he prompted, still smiling.
Knowing Fran, she would have noticed his mask. But she offered nothing more. "Never mind," she said, adding, "I suppose it was my imagination."
"Good night."
He left the room, and there was Holo.
Lawrence pretended not to notice her and went to the next room. She followed him in.
He closed the door, and the moon was the only light there at the beginning of the quiet night.
***


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
It was the sort of story that was swapped over drinks, but considering what they had just been through, it seemed appropriate.
"It's cold."
"You should soothe fresh wounds with cold and old ones with heat."
It seemed a rough method but probably an effective one. Lawrence preferred not to need the knowledge in the first place, if possible.
Chaplain—Fran had that title.
"I had always thought to end my travels once I saw the angel."
Blue moonlight streamed in through the open window, and her body itself seemed about ready to turn into light motes and disappear.
She was luridly wrapped in bandages around her middle and over her shoulder, and the fever she had borne in Taussig had broken. And yet not once had Fran appeared even slightly weak.
Had she been unable to manage at least this much, she never would have been employed as a chaplain, responsible for the faith and morale of an entire troop.
"By travels, you mean...?" Lawrence asked.
Fran chuckled slightly. Perhaps it was a bit embarrassing for her. "I was a girl obsessed, I realize now."
She had planned to die.
The bloodstained scriptures and the letters pressed between the pages.
Fran's determination to find the legend of the angel could also have been called an obsession.
If those with claws and fangs are the first to die, then she truly might have been the very vanguard. And it was precisely that quality that had finally led her to the angel. But what she had thought at the end of her journey, Lawrence did not know. He did not know, but her face was beautifully peaceful now.
"We still haven't gotten that map from you," Lawrence prodded, which Fran turned away at, pouting.
The line of her chin in the moonlight shone like a sharpened knife. "More than once I've seen merchants venture out onto the battlefield in their efforts to be repaid."
"So are you saying I'll have to pass through the gates of heaven to get it?"
Fran closed her eyes, catlike. As Lawrence approached the bed, she opened them and fixed their dark pupils on him.
"Unfortunately, the scriptures say it's easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a merchant to reach heaven," Lawrence said.
He reached across her and gently closed the window. Her face had looked slightly pained in the moonlight that shone through the open space.
"I'm afraid the same is true for me. I couldn't pass through the gates."
"So how about it, then? Helping others is a good way to atone for sins."
Fran smiled and then sunk slowly deeper into the covers.
It was probably still fairly painful for her to move, and she held up a hand to stop Lawrence from helping.
"If I let a merchant help me, who knows how many maps I'll end up having to draw." Her mischievous smile reminded him of a certain someone.
But then the supine Fran reached her right hand out. The same hand that had reached for the angel that appeared at the top of the falls.
"Payment for one," said Fran. She had probably picked up such affectations in her time with the mercenary troop.
Lawrence did not mind it. "I'll pay that." He took her hand and held it firmly.
If she had been a simple town girl, this was where he would have gone to kiss it. But Fran had no need for such things.
"God's protection be with you."
Having received such a meaningful blessing, Lawrence released her hand and tipped an invisible hat.
Fran nodded and slowly closed her eyes.
But as Lawrence turned to quietly leave the room, she spoke to him.
"Back then..."
"Hmm?"
"Back then, on the falls..."
Lawrence turned around. "On the falls?" he prompted, still smiling.
Knowing Fran, she would have noticed his mask. But she offered nothing more. "Never mind," she said, adding, "I suppose it was my imagination."
"Good night."
He left the room, and there was Holo.
Lawrence pretended not to notice her and went to the next room. She followed him in.
He closed the door, and the moon was the only light there at the beginning of the quiet night.
***

Output:
I have to admit I'm sort of impressed with myself for coming up with the plot for this volume. This may be because back when I was trying to write volume 2, I had my head in my hands, certain that there wasn't anything else to write about.
Apparently they say you have to read a hundred books to write a single volume. For Spice and Wolf, I drew on forty or fifty. The rest are...let's just say they're off set by Holo's ears and tail.
It's only been three months since the last volume, so not much has changed in my life, but I did visit Okinawa for nine days during the writing of volume 12. It was a writing trip I took with a fellow author friend. I was worried that nine days trapped in a small room would make things tense during the bottom half of the trip, but things were surprisingly peaceful. I credit the Awamori liquor and Ishigaki beef.
We'd get up in the morning, have breakfast, write, have lunch, write, nap, go swimming at the beach in front of the hotel, have dinner, write, and sleep. Th at was pretty much the routine. At one point we rented a car and drove to a beach farther away. At said beach, there were many people who just load up their car with a futon, a tent, and a dog and travel around Japan. I had no idea there was such a culture in Japan. Riding around on a motorcycle with a guitar strapped to your back— even light novel characters are a little better behaved than that.
We felt like we didn't want to lose to these guys, so we made plans to go to Paris next time or maybe some country in the south.
But if possible, I think I'd like to go in a state of cleanliness—having finished my work.
Now then, by the time this volume comes out, the second season of the anime should be reaching its peak, I think. I'll be enjoying that as I make preparations to write the next volume.
We shall meet again!
Perhaps in the autumn?
Isuna Hasekura
***
Even in a medium-small town, the luxuries of the location, which informed a decision to stay or push on, varied widely based on the town's status as a trading hub.
In this one, there were mountains and forests nearby, from which flowed a beautiful river. And being blessed with fertile soil, the town fairly overflowed with agricultural bounty.
Hardy crops sold at a healthy price, and the resulting healthy profits led to a bountiful lifestyle, which in turn made bountiful harvests all the easier.
This town was a perfect exemplar of this virtuous cycle, and come winter, it brimmed with a variety of goods, along with merchants come to buy the same, travelers laying in provisions, and entertainers and priests alike looking to practice their arts on the abundant visitors.
The marketplace in such a town's center was always raucous with this activity, as were the areas surrounding it filled with the hustle and bustle of townspeople plying their trades. Cobblers and tailors. Money changers running their businesses out of their wagons. Smiths selling travelers much-needed knives and swords—all were doing a flourishing business.
Look to the left or look to the right—everywhere were people, people, people.
Moreover, depending on the wind, delicious scents came wafting by—baked bread, frying fish—and one could hardly be blamed for being drawn to their sources, especially if days and days had been spent on the road in the cold, dry winter air, all the while eating nothing but stale bread and bad wine.
Perhaps unwilling to beg Lawrence to stop in front of every single stall they passed, Holo sat next to him in the wagon's driver's seat, clinging to his sleeve.
"Hare...catfish...roasted chestnuts...sausage..." She intoned every food they passed, like a child reciting words she had memorized.
If given leave to sample the goods as she pleased, Holo could surely spend a full gold coin in a mere three days.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
I have to admit I'm sort of impressed with myself for coming up with the plot for this volume. This may be because back when I was trying to write volume 2, I had my head in my hands, certain that there wasn't anything else to write about.
Apparently they say you have to read a hundred books to write a single volume. For Spice and Wolf, I drew on forty or fifty. The rest are...let's just say they're off set by Holo's ears and tail.
It's only been three months since the last volume, so not much has changed in my life, but I did visit Okinawa for nine days during the writing of volume 12. It was a writing trip I took with a fellow author friend. I was worried that nine days trapped in a small room would make things tense during the bottom half of the trip, but things were surprisingly peaceful. I credit the Awamori liquor and Ishigaki beef.
We'd get up in the morning, have breakfast, write, have lunch, write, nap, go swimming at the beach in front of the hotel, have dinner, write, and sleep. Th at was pretty much the routine. At one point we rented a car and drove to a beach farther away. At said beach, there were many people who just load up their car with a futon, a tent, and a dog and travel around Japan. I had no idea there was such a culture in Japan. Riding around on a motorcycle with a guitar strapped to your back— even light novel characters are a little better behaved than that.
We felt like we didn't want to lose to these guys, so we made plans to go to Paris next time or maybe some country in the south.
But if possible, I think I'd like to go in a state of cleanliness—having finished my work.
Now then, by the time this volume comes out, the second season of the anime should be reaching its peak, I think. I'll be enjoying that as I make preparations to write the next volume.
We shall meet again!
Perhaps in the autumn?
Isuna Hasekura
***
Even in a medium-small town, the luxuries of the location, which informed a decision to stay or push on, varied widely based on the town's status as a trading hub.
In this one, there were mountains and forests nearby, from which flowed a beautiful river. And being blessed with fertile soil, the town fairly overflowed with agricultural bounty.
Hardy crops sold at a healthy price, and the resulting healthy profits led to a bountiful lifestyle, which in turn made bountiful harvests all the easier.
This town was a perfect exemplar of this virtuous cycle, and come winter, it brimmed with a variety of goods, along with merchants come to buy the same, travelers laying in provisions, and entertainers and priests alike looking to practice their arts on the abundant visitors.
The marketplace in such a town's center was always raucous with this activity, as were the areas surrounding it filled with the hustle and bustle of townspeople plying their trades. Cobblers and tailors. Money changers running their businesses out of their wagons. Smiths selling travelers much-needed knives and swords—all were doing a flourishing business.
Look to the left or look to the right—everywhere were people, people, people.
Moreover, depending on the wind, delicious scents came wafting by—baked bread, frying fish—and one could hardly be blamed for being drawn to their sources, especially if days and days had been spent on the road in the cold, dry winter air, all the while eating nothing but stale bread and bad wine.
Perhaps unwilling to beg Lawrence to stop in front of every single stall they passed, Holo sat next to him in the wagon's driver's seat, clinging to his sleeve.
"Hare...catfish...roasted chestnuts...sausage..." She intoned every food they passed, like a child reciting words she had memorized.
If given leave to sample the goods as she pleased, Holo could surely spend a full gold coin in a mere three days.

Output:
Children licking their fingers gathered around, as did travelers, all anticipating a tasty treat.
"...I want to eat something like that myself, once...just once," said Holo wistfully, noticing Lawrence's glance at the sight and evidently deciding it was an opportune moment to speak up.
Lawrence merely straightened and cleared his throat. "If my memory is to be trusted, I'm quite sure I treated you to a whole roasted piglet at one point." Holo had devoured it entirely on her own, getting her hands, mouth, and even her hair covered in grease.
It was unlikely she had forgotten the experience, Lawrence thought, but Holo merely arranged herself in the driver's seat.
"Such a thing would fill my belly for only so long."
"...Perhaps, but there's no way you could eat an entire roast pig." It was not impossible that it weighed more than she did. Lawrence wondered if she would claim a readiness to assume her true form in order to manage the feat. Such would have been a serious case of misplaced priorities, but Holo only looked at Lawrence as though he were a very great fool.
"That is not what I am saying," she said.
"Then what?" Lawrence asked. He truly did not understand the point at which Holo was angling.
"You don't get it? You're a merchant, yet you don't understand the wishes of another?" A certain amount of pity colored her expression, which wounded his merchant's pride more than being called a fool or a dunce possibly could.
"H-hang on." Lawrence could not let this stand.
Pigs. Pork. A piglet being insufficient for her. Given the way she had just spoken, this was not about meat.
"Ah."
"Oh?" Holo cocked her head, as though wondering whether he had figured it out.
"I suppose you didn't get enough of the skin, then?"
"...Wha...?"
"It's true, there's less of it on a piglet. Still, well-roasted pork skin...it's a luxury, that's for certain. It's crunchy, and when eaten with the meat, the oil spreads out in your mouth, and it's even better with a good amount of salt..."
"Fwa!" Holo had been watching Lawrence with her mouth wide-open. She hastily wiped the drool from it and then looked away sullenly.
It was cruel talk to subject her to, after so many days of nothing but dry bread, salty pickled cabbage, and garlic. But from the way Holo coughed two or three times and wiped her mouth as though ridding it of an irritation, his guess had been off the mark.
The expression displayed under her hood was most displeased as well.
"What, that wasn't it?"
"Not even close. Still...," Holo said, wiping her mouth one more time and pulling her chin in. "That does sound rather tasty..."
"Well, you can't get the skin unless you order a whole roast pig, and even with the two of us eating, too much meat would go to waste. I've even heard of nobles eating nothing but the skin and throwing the meat away, but..."
"Oh ho." Holo was always serious when discussing food.
Lawrence smiled in spite of himself. "So," he continued. "What could it be, then? You're not satisfied with a piglet, which means..."
"Mm?"
"It's not the skin, right? Sausage, then? Or boiled liver? That's not my favorite, but liver can be quite popular."
For a moment, Lawrence wondered if she meant she wanted to eat the item in question raw on the spot. She was a wolf, after all; but if they asked for a whole pig liver raw, they would instantly be suspected of being pagans, and the Church would be notified.
Still.
"Fool," said Holo abruptly, as though to negate everything he was thinking. "You truly are a fool."
"I don't think someone who drools at every mention of food should be talking...," he said, earning an immediate pinch to his thigh. Holo seemed determined to give him something to regret if he was going to lead her on with talk of food.
Just as Lawrence was reflecting on having teased her too much, Holo sneered at him. "Even I don't have such a large stomach. A piglet is more than enough for me," she grumbled.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Children licking their fingers gathered around, as did travelers, all anticipating a tasty treat.
"...I want to eat something like that myself, once...just once," said Holo wistfully, noticing Lawrence's glance at the sight and evidently deciding it was an opportune moment to speak up.
Lawrence merely straightened and cleared his throat. "If my memory is to be trusted, I'm quite sure I treated you to a whole roasted piglet at one point." Holo had devoured it entirely on her own, getting her hands, mouth, and even her hair covered in grease.
It was unlikely she had forgotten the experience, Lawrence thought, but Holo merely arranged herself in the driver's seat.
"Such a thing would fill my belly for only so long."
"...Perhaps, but there's no way you could eat an entire roast pig." It was not impossible that it weighed more than she did. Lawrence wondered if she would claim a readiness to assume her true form in order to manage the feat. Such would have been a serious case of misplaced priorities, but Holo only looked at Lawrence as though he were a very great fool.
"That is not what I am saying," she said.
"Then what?" Lawrence asked. He truly did not understand the point at which Holo was angling.
"You don't get it? You're a merchant, yet you don't understand the wishes of another?" A certain amount of pity colored her expression, which wounded his merchant's pride more than being called a fool or a dunce possibly could.
"H-hang on." Lawrence could not let this stand.
Pigs. Pork. A piglet being insufficient for her. Given the way she had just spoken, this was not about meat.
"Ah."
"Oh?" Holo cocked her head, as though wondering whether he had figured it out.
"I suppose you didn't get enough of the skin, then?"
"...Wha...?"
"It's true, there's less of it on a piglet. Still, well-roasted pork skin...it's a luxury, that's for certain. It's crunchy, and when eaten with the meat, the oil spreads out in your mouth, and it's even better with a good amount of salt..."
"Fwa!" Holo had been watching Lawrence with her mouth wide-open. She hastily wiped the drool from it and then looked away sullenly.
It was cruel talk to subject her to, after so many days of nothing but dry bread, salty pickled cabbage, and garlic. But from the way Holo coughed two or three times and wiped her mouth as though ridding it of an irritation, his guess had been off the mark.
The expression displayed under her hood was most displeased as well.
"What, that wasn't it?"
"Not even close. Still...," Holo said, wiping her mouth one more time and pulling her chin in. "That does sound rather tasty..."
"Well, you can't get the skin unless you order a whole roast pig, and even with the two of us eating, too much meat would go to waste. I've even heard of nobles eating nothing but the skin and throwing the meat away, but..."
"Oh ho." Holo was always serious when discussing food.
Lawrence smiled in spite of himself. "So," he continued. "What could it be, then? You're not satisfied with a piglet, which means..."
"Mm?"
"It's not the skin, right? Sausage, then? Or boiled liver? That's not my favorite, but liver can be quite popular."
For a moment, Lawrence wondered if she meant she wanted to eat the item in question raw on the spot. She was a wolf, after all; but if they asked for a whole pig liver raw, they would instantly be suspected of being pagans, and the Church would be notified.
Still.
"Fool," said Holo abruptly, as though to negate everything he was thinking. "You truly are a fool."
"I don't think someone who drools at every mention of food should be talking...," he said, earning an immediate pinch to his thigh. Holo seemed determined to give him something to regret if he was going to lead her on with talk of food.
Just as Lawrence was reflecting on having teased her too much, Holo sneered at him. "Even I don't have such a large stomach. A piglet is more than enough for me," she grumbled.

Output:
He thought back again, and the answer came to him quite readily.
Looking at Holo's forward-facing, irritated profile, Lawrence laughed a quiet, defeated laugh. "So you want us to go together and have a meal we can't possibly finish, is that it?"
Holo glanced at him, then smiled a bashful smile. It was enough to make Lawrence want to pick her up in his arms.
Wolves felt lonely so very easily, after all.
"You see, then?"
So, a meal tonight, too big for them to eat?
When Holo smiled, her fangs were slightly visible behind her lips. Lawrence got the feeling he had seen something he should not have and hastily looked ahead. He did not want to erase Holo's smile, and her proposal was a very charming one.
However, such greed was the enemy of the merchant. An enjoyable meal came at a very unenjoyable price. Showing generosity like this was all well and good, but if it became a habit, it would soon be a problem.
Did this make him a miserly person? No, no—as a merchant, he was right.
Lawrence gripped the reins as he argued with himself, tightly enough for them to creak audibly. And then, he noticed something.
Beside him Holo was doubled over as she tried to restrain her laughter.
***
Her tail swished to and fro from the effort.
Irritated, Lawrence looked ahead, which made Holo burst out laughing. In the busy, bustling town, nobody noticed the laughter of one girl on a lone wagon.
So Lawrence decided not to notice it, either. No, indeed, he would not. He swore to himself in no uncertain terms that he would ignore her. And yet he was perfectly aware that this action would itself amuse her to no end.
Once Holo had finished her laughter at the expense of his tortured thought processes, she wiped the corners of her eyes—not her mouth. "My thanks for the meal!"
"You're quite welcome," Lawrence answered with sincerity.
"What? No rooms?"
The first floor of the inn was set up to serve light meals, and now, shortly before sunset, it was already raucous with activity.
A thick ledger book in one hand, the innkeeper scratched his head apologetically with his other. "There have just been so many people recently. My apologies, truly..."
"So it'll be like this at the other inns, too?"
"Reckon it will. Times like this, it makes me wish the guild would loosen their rules a bit, but..."
The more people the owners could pack in, the more profit an inn stood to make, so profit was generally limited by the number of boarders. But if an inn was overcrowded, the building could collapse or disease could break out. Such conditions also made it easier for untoward professionals like thieves and fortune-tellers to mingle, so restrictions on the number of guests tended to be very strict.
For a guild member, defying the guild was like defying a king.
The innkeeper closed the thick ledger. "If you'd like some food, that much I can manage," he offered remorsefully.
"We'll come again later."
The innkeeper nodded in lieu of a reply, perhaps too used to hearing such promises. Given how crowded it was, there was no chance a room would open up, so Lawrence returned to the wagon. He faced Holo and wordlessly shook his head.
Quite accustomed to travel herself, Holo nodded, as if to say she had expected as much. But under her hood, her features were showing a bit of strain.
Well versed in this scenario, she was no doubt already imagining the camp they would have to make at the outskirts of the town if they failed to find a room. To avoid that, the only option was to find a place to park the wagon and borrow some bedclothes—someplace like a stable, a trading company, or a church.
That would have been easier enough in a larger town, but in this middling one? It was hard to say.
If they did not find a place to park the wagon by the time the market closed and the sun set, they would just have to leave town again, as Holo was fearing. Lawrence would not have minded this so much had he been alone, but it was more troublesome now that Holo was with him.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
He thought back again, and the answer came to him quite readily.
Looking at Holo's forward-facing, irritated profile, Lawrence laughed a quiet, defeated laugh. "So you want us to go together and have a meal we can't possibly finish, is that it?"
Holo glanced at him, then smiled a bashful smile. It was enough to make Lawrence want to pick her up in his arms.
Wolves felt lonely so very easily, after all.
"You see, then?"
So, a meal tonight, too big for them to eat?
When Holo smiled, her fangs were slightly visible behind her lips. Lawrence got the feeling he had seen something he should not have and hastily looked ahead. He did not want to erase Holo's smile, and her proposal was a very charming one.
However, such greed was the enemy of the merchant. An enjoyable meal came at a very unenjoyable price. Showing generosity like this was all well and good, but if it became a habit, it would soon be a problem.
Did this make him a miserly person? No, no—as a merchant, he was right.
Lawrence gripped the reins as he argued with himself, tightly enough for them to creak audibly. And then, he noticed something.
Beside him Holo was doubled over as she tried to restrain her laughter.
***
Her tail swished to and fro from the effort.
Irritated, Lawrence looked ahead, which made Holo burst out laughing. In the busy, bustling town, nobody noticed the laughter of one girl on a lone wagon.
So Lawrence decided not to notice it, either. No, indeed, he would not. He swore to himself in no uncertain terms that he would ignore her. And yet he was perfectly aware that this action would itself amuse her to no end.
Once Holo had finished her laughter at the expense of his tortured thought processes, she wiped the corners of her eyes—not her mouth. "My thanks for the meal!"
"You're quite welcome," Lawrence answered with sincerity.
"What? No rooms?"
The first floor of the inn was set up to serve light meals, and now, shortly before sunset, it was already raucous with activity.
A thick ledger book in one hand, the innkeeper scratched his head apologetically with his other. "There have just been so many people recently. My apologies, truly..."
"So it'll be like this at the other inns, too?"
"Reckon it will. Times like this, it makes me wish the guild would loosen their rules a bit, but..."
The more people the owners could pack in, the more profit an inn stood to make, so profit was generally limited by the number of boarders. But if an inn was overcrowded, the building could collapse or disease could break out. Such conditions also made it easier for untoward professionals like thieves and fortune-tellers to mingle, so restrictions on the number of guests tended to be very strict.
For a guild member, defying the guild was like defying a king.
The innkeeper closed the thick ledger. "If you'd like some food, that much I can manage," he offered remorsefully.
"We'll come again later."
The innkeeper nodded in lieu of a reply, perhaps too used to hearing such promises. Given how crowded it was, there was no chance a room would open up, so Lawrence returned to the wagon. He faced Holo and wordlessly shook his head.
Quite accustomed to travel herself, Holo nodded, as if to say she had expected as much. But under her hood, her features were showing a bit of strain.
Well versed in this scenario, she was no doubt already imagining the camp they would have to make at the outskirts of the town if they failed to find a room. To avoid that, the only option was to find a place to park the wagon and borrow some bedclothes—someplace like a stable, a trading company, or a church.
That would have been easier enough in a larger town, but in this middling one? It was hard to say.
If they did not find a place to park the wagon by the time the market closed and the sun set, they would just have to leave town again, as Holo was fearing. Lawrence would not have minded this so much had he been alone, but it was more troublesome now that Holo was with him.

Output:
Holding on to that hope, Lawrence continued down the inn-lined street.
The second and third turned him away, and he arrived at the fourth just in time to see the people in front of him refused.
When he returned to the wagon, Holo seemed to have already given up and was loosening her bootlaces and belt in the wagon bed.
If he tried the fifth inn, the result would be the same surely.
Yet there was a great difference between having a roof and lacking one.
He pulled on the reins and wheeled the wagon about, threading a path through the hustle and bustle of people hurrying to finish the day's work. In times like these, he envied those with a home to return to so much it angered him, and he felt a terrible misery at not being able to gain so much as a shabby inn's room.
Perhaps noticing his frustration, Holo purposefully drew close to him. Pathetically, he felt himself relax all over. Despite it all, he did have Holo by his side.
Lawrence stroked her head through the hood, and she smiled, ticklish.
It was a single, simple moment in their travel. And then, just then—
"They'll be ready to eat in a week, I hear," came a voice from alongside the wagon.
On the crowded street, there was little difference between wagon-drawn traffic and walking, so it was easy to overhear other conversations. From the white dust on the men's faces and arms, Lawrence inferred that they were bakers taking a break from their work.
They seemed to be talking about a shop somewhere along the street.
"Ah, you're talking about what the young master of the Ohm Company said? Still, I'm surprised the boss would accept the work of someone like that. And then to order us to put it on the bread we bake? Absurd, I say!"
"Now, now. He pays us well and buys up the finest wheat bread we can bake. Even you like kneading the best wheat flour there is sometimes, eh?"
"Aye, I suppose...still..."
The one man seemed displeased with the item orders placed by a certain trading company's young master. Bakers were a famously proud lot, even among craftsmen, so the order had to be something that went against his professional standards.
It took long, hard effort to become a craftsman, and then there was a final test to become a master—covering everything from the weighing of flour to the difficult techniques necessary for shaping the dough for rolls. Given all that, they seemed to be discussing the matter at hand in the light of exceptional professional pride.
But what was this bread being topped with?
Still leaning against Lawrence, Holo was very still, he could tell, as she listened carefully.
Lawrence followed the bakers' gazes to their end, where the street was lined with the eaves of building after building.
There was a candlemaker, a tallow seller, a needle maker, a button maker. Of those, only the tallow seller sold anything edible, and Lawrence could not imagine they were baking bread topped with hunks of fat.
Then the answer came into his vision.
The apothecary's shop.
One of the presumable bakers spoke, and everything was made clear. "Our bread's at its tastiest when eaten alone! It's a mistake to put such stuff on it. And anyway, it's too expensive. Do the things turn into gold when preserved in honey? It's absurd!"
"Ha-ha. You're just complaining because you can't afford it yourself?"
"L-like hell I am! I've no interest in the stuff! Honeyed peach preserves? Bah!"
Lawrence's gaze flicked back to Holo, whose ears pricked up as though they had been poked with a needle. He would not have been surprised had they shot right through her hood.
Holo did not move. She was very, very still. But this was not some surprising display of self-control. It was quite the opposite.
Her tail lashed to and fro beneath her robe almost painfully, as though it had been lit on fire. Pride, reason, and gluttony all warred within her in a terrible tug-of-war.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Holding on to that hope, Lawrence continued down the inn-lined street.
The second and third turned him away, and he arrived at the fourth just in time to see the people in front of him refused.
When he returned to the wagon, Holo seemed to have already given up and was loosening her bootlaces and belt in the wagon bed.
If he tried the fifth inn, the result would be the same surely.
Yet there was a great difference between having a roof and lacking one.
He pulled on the reins and wheeled the wagon about, threading a path through the hustle and bustle of people hurrying to finish the day's work. In times like these, he envied those with a home to return to so much it angered him, and he felt a terrible misery at not being able to gain so much as a shabby inn's room.
Perhaps noticing his frustration, Holo purposefully drew close to him. Pathetically, he felt himself relax all over. Despite it all, he did have Holo by his side.
Lawrence stroked her head through the hood, and she smiled, ticklish.
It was a single, simple moment in their travel. And then, just then—
"They'll be ready to eat in a week, I hear," came a voice from alongside the wagon.
On the crowded street, there was little difference between wagon-drawn traffic and walking, so it was easy to overhear other conversations. From the white dust on the men's faces and arms, Lawrence inferred that they were bakers taking a break from their work.
They seemed to be talking about a shop somewhere along the street.
"Ah, you're talking about what the young master of the Ohm Company said? Still, I'm surprised the boss would accept the work of someone like that. And then to order us to put it on the bread we bake? Absurd, I say!"
"Now, now. He pays us well and buys up the finest wheat bread we can bake. Even you like kneading the best wheat flour there is sometimes, eh?"
"Aye, I suppose...still..."
The one man seemed displeased with the item orders placed by a certain trading company's young master. Bakers were a famously proud lot, even among craftsmen, so the order had to be something that went against his professional standards.
It took long, hard effort to become a craftsman, and then there was a final test to become a master—covering everything from the weighing of flour to the difficult techniques necessary for shaping the dough for rolls. Given all that, they seemed to be discussing the matter at hand in the light of exceptional professional pride.
But what was this bread being topped with?
Still leaning against Lawrence, Holo was very still, he could tell, as she listened carefully.
Lawrence followed the bakers' gazes to their end, where the street was lined with the eaves of building after building.
There was a candlemaker, a tallow seller, a needle maker, a button maker. Of those, only the tallow seller sold anything edible, and Lawrence could not imagine they were baking bread topped with hunks of fat.
Then the answer came into his vision.
The apothecary's shop.
One of the presumable bakers spoke, and everything was made clear. "Our bread's at its tastiest when eaten alone! It's a mistake to put such stuff on it. And anyway, it's too expensive. Do the things turn into gold when preserved in honey? It's absurd!"
"Ha-ha. You're just complaining because you can't afford it yourself?"
"L-like hell I am! I've no interest in the stuff! Honeyed peach preserves? Bah!"
Lawrence's gaze flicked back to Holo, whose ears pricked up as though they had been poked with a needle. He would not have been surprised had they shot right through her hood.
Holo did not move. She was very, very still. But this was not some surprising display of self-control. It was quite the opposite.
Her tail lashed to and fro beneath her robe almost painfully, as though it had been lit on fire. Pride, reason, and gluttony all warred within her in a terrible tug-of-war.

Output:
He wondered if it would be best to pretend nothing had happened.
The thought occurred to him for the merest instant, but the fact that Holo continued to simply sit there, not begging or pleading, was itself rather terrifying.
If he was truly a skilled negotiator, then this would be the time to prove it. If his opponent would just say something, it would give him the chance to refute or deflect it. But so long as there was nothing, he had no room to maneuver.
"S-seems like it'll be cold tonight," said Lawrence, scattering some conversational bait.
Holo said nothing.
This was serious.
Lawrence thought about the roasted pigskin. Anyone would be desperate, after making it all the way to a town only to be confronted with another cold night and a meal of bad bread and bad wine.
At the very least, the food situation could be remedied.
But honeyed peach preserves came at such a price. Would a single peach be ten trenni pieces? Or twenty?
It struck Lawrence as an absurd price, but it was true that he was capable of paying it. His coin purse could manage it, and there was Holo's smile to consider.
Her silence was without her usual teasing and mischief.
In the end, Lawrence chose her.
"...I suppose it can't be helped. Let's visit the apothecary and see if we can't find something to warm ourselves."
Holo remained motionless. Motionless, yes, but her ears and tail quivered with a puppy's glee.
The apothecary sold medicine, as one might expect, but also dealt in a variety of other goods.
In a town, the cobbler sold shoes and the tailor clothes, and generally the various guilds stayed in their own territories. Thus, the tailor could only also alter clothes, and a cobbler repair only shoes. A tallow seller could not sell bread, nor could a fishmonger sell meat.
By this logic, an apothecary ought to have only sold medicine, but it was common sense that offering a wider variety of goods brought in more customers, as any merchant knew perfectly well.
Thus, apothecaries would use all sorts of convoluted logic to pull in a great variety of goods. The products most likely to cause quarrels with other shops were none other than spices. Apothecaries would claim all sorts of spices were good for inducing sweat or lowering fevers, and thus qualified as medicine they could sell.
Extending that logic, anything good for one's health also counted as medicine, and thus it was that apothecaries had become the chief dealers in honey.
The only other merchants who dealt in honey were the candlemakers, who sold beeswax candles.
It was difficult for traveling merchants—who dealt in anything and everything money could buy—to understand the turf wars between town merchants. But it was thanks to those turf wars that there was such an array of honeyed preserves lined up before them.
Plum, pear, raspberry, turnip, garlic, pork, beef, hare, mutton, carp, barracuda—these were just the ones that sprung to mind.
When preserving food, one could use salt, vinegar, ice—or honey. During this time of year, when the end of the long winter was yet far away, the prices of these preserves were at their highest. The contents of the bottles and barrels here, each labeled with a hasty scribble, would all fetch a good price.
Among all those lined-up goods, there was one that outshone all the rest. In the farthest corner of the shop behind the shopkeeper, enshrined on a shelf beside the pepper, saffron, and sugar, was an amber-colored bottle.
No sooner had they entered the shop than Holo's gaze was fixed upon it.
"Welcome," said the bearded shopkeeper, looking from Lawrence to Holo.
He noticed that Holo's attention had been captured by something, so next he checked her manner of dress. One of his long eyebrows lifted minutely—the girl was well dressed, but not the man.
Whether or not he had concluded that even if they were here to shop, they would not be buying anything expensive, his tone was disinterested as he asked, "Are you looking for anything?"


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
He wondered if it would be best to pretend nothing had happened.
The thought occurred to him for the merest instant, but the fact that Holo continued to simply sit there, not begging or pleading, was itself rather terrifying.
If he was truly a skilled negotiator, then this would be the time to prove it. If his opponent would just say something, it would give him the chance to refute or deflect it. But so long as there was nothing, he had no room to maneuver.
"S-seems like it'll be cold tonight," said Lawrence, scattering some conversational bait.
Holo said nothing.
This was serious.
Lawrence thought about the roasted pigskin. Anyone would be desperate, after making it all the way to a town only to be confronted with another cold night and a meal of bad bread and bad wine.
At the very least, the food situation could be remedied.
But honeyed peach preserves came at such a price. Would a single peach be ten trenni pieces? Or twenty?
It struck Lawrence as an absurd price, but it was true that he was capable of paying it. His coin purse could manage it, and there was Holo's smile to consider.
Her silence was without her usual teasing and mischief.
In the end, Lawrence chose her.
"...I suppose it can't be helped. Let's visit the apothecary and see if we can't find something to warm ourselves."
Holo remained motionless. Motionless, yes, but her ears and tail quivered with a puppy's glee.
The apothecary sold medicine, as one might expect, but also dealt in a variety of other goods.
In a town, the cobbler sold shoes and the tailor clothes, and generally the various guilds stayed in their own territories. Thus, the tailor could only also alter clothes, and a cobbler repair only shoes. A tallow seller could not sell bread, nor could a fishmonger sell meat.
By this logic, an apothecary ought to have only sold medicine, but it was common sense that offering a wider variety of goods brought in more customers, as any merchant knew perfectly well.
Thus, apothecaries would use all sorts of convoluted logic to pull in a great variety of goods. The products most likely to cause quarrels with other shops were none other than spices. Apothecaries would claim all sorts of spices were good for inducing sweat or lowering fevers, and thus qualified as medicine they could sell.
Extending that logic, anything good for one's health also counted as medicine, and thus it was that apothecaries had become the chief dealers in honey.
The only other merchants who dealt in honey were the candlemakers, who sold beeswax candles.
It was difficult for traveling merchants—who dealt in anything and everything money could buy—to understand the turf wars between town merchants. But it was thanks to those turf wars that there was such an array of honeyed preserves lined up before them.
Plum, pear, raspberry, turnip, garlic, pork, beef, hare, mutton, carp, barracuda—these were just the ones that sprung to mind.
When preserving food, one could use salt, vinegar, ice—or honey. During this time of year, when the end of the long winter was yet far away, the prices of these preserves were at their highest. The contents of the bottles and barrels here, each labeled with a hasty scribble, would all fetch a good price.
Among all those lined-up goods, there was one that outshone all the rest. In the farthest corner of the shop behind the shopkeeper, enshrined on a shelf beside the pepper, saffron, and sugar, was an amber-colored bottle.
No sooner had they entered the shop than Holo's gaze was fixed upon it.
"Welcome," said the bearded shopkeeper, looking from Lawrence to Holo.
He noticed that Holo's attention had been captured by something, so next he checked her manner of dress. One of his long eyebrows lifted minutely—the girl was well dressed, but not the man.
Whether or not he had concluded that even if they were here to shop, they would not be buying anything expensive, his tone was disinterested as he asked, "Are you looking for anything?"

Output:
"Ginger's on that shelf."
The rest of Lawrence's sentence was cut off in his throat, and there it vanished. If that's all you're here for, buy it and get out, the shopkeeper seemed to be saying. Lawrence did as he was told and looked over the ginger on the shelf, deciding on a honey-preserved variety. It was cheap but good for eating while huddled under blankets with nothing else to do.
But then he noticed Holo's gaze on him—as though asking him, We've come to this place after all that talk, and after raising my expectations like this, you can't just give up.
And of course, Lawrence had no intention of doing so.
It was too easy to buy Holo's favor with food, and Holo herself found it tiresome on occasion. But when it came to honeyed peach preserves, things were different.
They had come up in conversation several times before, but as yet Lawrence had been unable to buy any. There was the matter of the high cost, of course, but more often than not they had simply been unavailable.
So perhaps that was why Holo's enchantment with the food now wafted off of her in waves.
Lawrence walked past the vibrating Holo to the shopkeeper to have him portion out some of the ginger preserves and pay. He was obviously going to start bargaining, but—
"That'll be ten ryut."
Lawrence paid and wordlessly took the goods. Behind him he could feel Holo staring, stunned.
His eyes fixed upon the figure written on the label of the amber-colored bottle. One fruit for one lumione, or around thirty-five silver trenni.
For a moment he thought his eyes were mistaken, but no—that was indeed what was written there. The term peaches of gold was bandied about often enough, but even so—such a price!
After taking a goodly while to note what Lawrence was looking at, the shopkeeper spoke with a deliberately casual tone. "Ah, you've a good eye for quality. This year's peaches were very sweet and firm as well. The honey is the finest from Baron Ludinhild's forest. One lumione per fruit, and I've had many customers! Only three left, in fact. How about it?"
It was written on the man's face that he knew Lawrence could not purchase such a thing. In a town like this, without connections to large trading companies or urban nobility, it was outrageous to put such a price on honeyed peach preserves. That he was treating his customers with such open contempt was proof of how confident he felt in his position.
But Lawrence had the confidence that came from having completed many trades in large towns. His hand moved toward his coin purse out of irritation at being treated like some novice peddler.
It was not a sudden prideful desire to conserve money that stopped him. Rather, it was a keen understanding of exactly how many coins were within that purse, keener than any god's.
If he spent an entire lumione here, their travels might come to a premature end farther along the road. No merchant would be fool enough to keep their entire wealth on their person, so Lawrence was not carrying much on him at the moment.
Reality blocked the path to Holo's smile. Realizing this, Lawrence shook his head. "Ha-ha. Too much for me."
"Is that so? Well, come again if you change your mind."
Lawrence turned around and left the shop, and Holo followed obediently behind him. She did not raise a single word of reproach, which was somehow worse.
He felt as though he were being stalked by a wolf in a dark forest, its footsteps matching his.
He had let her get her hopes up, and then in the end, he had not bought the item of her desire, which was much worse than simply pretending not to notice from the driver's seat.
If he apologized first, it might lessen the wound, he thought; so steeling himself, he turned to her.
***
He was at a loss for words, but not because Holo's face was a mask of rage. Rather, it was quite the opposite.
"Mm? Whatever is the matter?" she asked. Her words had no particular force to them, nor was there fire in her eyes.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"Ginger's on that shelf."
The rest of Lawrence's sentence was cut off in his throat, and there it vanished. If that's all you're here for, buy it and get out, the shopkeeper seemed to be saying. Lawrence did as he was told and looked over the ginger on the shelf, deciding on a honey-preserved variety. It was cheap but good for eating while huddled under blankets with nothing else to do.
But then he noticed Holo's gaze on him—as though asking him, We've come to this place after all that talk, and after raising my expectations like this, you can't just give up.
And of course, Lawrence had no intention of doing so.
It was too easy to buy Holo's favor with food, and Holo herself found it tiresome on occasion. But when it came to honeyed peach preserves, things were different.
They had come up in conversation several times before, but as yet Lawrence had been unable to buy any. There was the matter of the high cost, of course, but more often than not they had simply been unavailable.
So perhaps that was why Holo's enchantment with the food now wafted off of her in waves.
Lawrence walked past the vibrating Holo to the shopkeeper to have him portion out some of the ginger preserves and pay. He was obviously going to start bargaining, but—
"That'll be ten ryut."
Lawrence paid and wordlessly took the goods. Behind him he could feel Holo staring, stunned.
His eyes fixed upon the figure written on the label of the amber-colored bottle. One fruit for one lumione, or around thirty-five silver trenni.
For a moment he thought his eyes were mistaken, but no—that was indeed what was written there. The term peaches of gold was bandied about often enough, but even so—such a price!
After taking a goodly while to note what Lawrence was looking at, the shopkeeper spoke with a deliberately casual tone. "Ah, you've a good eye for quality. This year's peaches were very sweet and firm as well. The honey is the finest from Baron Ludinhild's forest. One lumione per fruit, and I've had many customers! Only three left, in fact. How about it?"
It was written on the man's face that he knew Lawrence could not purchase such a thing. In a town like this, without connections to large trading companies or urban nobility, it was outrageous to put such a price on honeyed peach preserves. That he was treating his customers with such open contempt was proof of how confident he felt in his position.
But Lawrence had the confidence that came from having completed many trades in large towns. His hand moved toward his coin purse out of irritation at being treated like some novice peddler.
It was not a sudden prideful desire to conserve money that stopped him. Rather, it was a keen understanding of exactly how many coins were within that purse, keener than any god's.
If he spent an entire lumione here, their travels might come to a premature end farther along the road. No merchant would be fool enough to keep their entire wealth on their person, so Lawrence was not carrying much on him at the moment.
Reality blocked the path to Holo's smile. Realizing this, Lawrence shook his head. "Ha-ha. Too much for me."
"Is that so? Well, come again if you change your mind."
Lawrence turned around and left the shop, and Holo followed obediently behind him. She did not raise a single word of reproach, which was somehow worse.
He felt as though he were being stalked by a wolf in a dark forest, its footsteps matching his.
He had let her get her hopes up, and then in the end, he had not bought the item of her desire, which was much worse than simply pretending not to notice from the driver's seat.
If he apologized first, it might lessen the wound, he thought; so steeling himself, he turned to her.
***
He was at a loss for words, but not because Holo's face was a mask of rage. Rather, it was quite the opposite.
"Mm? Whatever is the matter?" she asked. Her words had no particular force to them, nor was there fire in her eyes.

Output:
"N-nothing..."
"I see. Well, hurry up and get on, then. Your seat's the farther one, is it not?"
"Er, yes..."
Lawrence did as he was told and climbed onto the wagon, as Holo followed closely behind him. He sat on the far side, and she settled herself down neatly next to him.
If she seemed many times larger when she was angry, then her dejection had the opposite effect. Her desire to eat the honeyed peach preserves was a terrible thing surely.
This was not the sort of case where Lawrence could laugh off her gluttony. Here in the cold, hard air, they had been surviving on nothing but stale bread and sour wine for some time. There were countless stories of a bowl of soup presented to a lost king and his troop, only to have that rewarded with a great treasure, and now he could see why.
There was no question that Holo had been deeply, sincerely looking forward to the honeyed peach preserves. And now she looked absently ahead, not even speaking a single word of frustration to him.
This had to be because she knew both the great cost of the preserves and the current state of Lawrence's coin purse.
Lawrence glanced over at her. Her body swayed with the jolts of the wagon. She seemed so absent that she might not have noticed if Lawrence were to suddenly embrace her.
The wagon trundled on.
They would probably be forced to make camp tonight. The only thing that made the hard wagon bed tolerable was knowing that a soft pillow and piles of blankets awaited their arrival in the next town.
***
Lawrence tugged on his beard with such force that it almost hurt, then closed his eyes. Perhaps he ought to turn around and slam the entire contents of his coin purse onto the apothecary's counter.
And yet even as he reconsidered it, Lawrence's hands did not pull the reins.
A whole lumione for a single peach was simply too much.
In addition to how difficult it would make continuing in their travels if he were to spend his money thus, there was the simple fact that Lawrence believed in the exchange of goods and money for a fair price.
Sweat broke out on his brow as he agonized over the impossible decision. Next to him, Holo, her shoulders slumped, hardly seemed like she could manage yet another night in the cold. The only thing that would return a smile and some good cheer to her would be the moment she could eat the coveted preserves.
He had to buy some.
Lawrence made up his mind and pulled up on the reins.
Holo noticed this and looked up at him, questioning.
One fruit for one lumione.
It was expensive, but what was that compared to Holo?
What's more, the shopkeeper said he had three fruits left. If Lawrence did not hurry, it was likely he would sell them all. Business was so good in this town that eccentric young trade masters were putting them on loaves of bread and baking them, after all. It was not at all impossible that the apothecary would sell out.
The horse neighed and stopped, and just as Lawrence made to wheel around and head back into the crowd, he realized—
"Business is...good."
Here in this town where the market was lively, travelers were many, and everyone's business was booming. The town's wealth had to be proportionate to that.
If so, Lawrence mused as he stroked his beard, the ideas in his head clicking pleasantly into place.
When the notion was complete, Lawrence took the reins up yet again and headed the wagon back in its original direction.
A man—a traveler, by the look of him—shouted in anger at Lawrence's driving, but Lawrence merely begged it off with his mask of a merchant's smile.
At this sudden change, Holo peered at him dubiously.
Lawrence gave a short answer. "Let's drop by that trading company."
"...Mm. Huh?" Holo began to make a sound of assent, but it changed into a questioning tone as it left her mouth.
But Lawrence did not reply, simply continuing to drive the wagon in the same direction.
He needed money to buy the honeyed peach preserves, and if he did not have it, he merely needed to earn it.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"N-nothing..."
"I see. Well, hurry up and get on, then. Your seat's the farther one, is it not?"
"Er, yes..."
Lawrence did as he was told and climbed onto the wagon, as Holo followed closely behind him. He sat on the far side, and she settled herself down neatly next to him.
If she seemed many times larger when she was angry, then her dejection had the opposite effect. Her desire to eat the honeyed peach preserves was a terrible thing surely.
This was not the sort of case where Lawrence could laugh off her gluttony. Here in the cold, hard air, they had been surviving on nothing but stale bread and sour wine for some time. There were countless stories of a bowl of soup presented to a lost king and his troop, only to have that rewarded with a great treasure, and now he could see why.
There was no question that Holo had been deeply, sincerely looking forward to the honeyed peach preserves. And now she looked absently ahead, not even speaking a single word of frustration to him.
This had to be because she knew both the great cost of the preserves and the current state of Lawrence's coin purse.
Lawrence glanced over at her. Her body swayed with the jolts of the wagon. She seemed so absent that she might not have noticed if Lawrence were to suddenly embrace her.
The wagon trundled on.
They would probably be forced to make camp tonight. The only thing that made the hard wagon bed tolerable was knowing that a soft pillow and piles of blankets awaited their arrival in the next town.
***
Lawrence tugged on his beard with such force that it almost hurt, then closed his eyes. Perhaps he ought to turn around and slam the entire contents of his coin purse onto the apothecary's counter.
And yet even as he reconsidered it, Lawrence's hands did not pull the reins.
A whole lumione for a single peach was simply too much.
In addition to how difficult it would make continuing in their travels if he were to spend his money thus, there was the simple fact that Lawrence believed in the exchange of goods and money for a fair price.
Sweat broke out on his brow as he agonized over the impossible decision. Next to him, Holo, her shoulders slumped, hardly seemed like she could manage yet another night in the cold. The only thing that would return a smile and some good cheer to her would be the moment she could eat the coveted preserves.
He had to buy some.
Lawrence made up his mind and pulled up on the reins.
Holo noticed this and looked up at him, questioning.
One fruit for one lumione.
It was expensive, but what was that compared to Holo?
What's more, the shopkeeper said he had three fruits left. If Lawrence did not hurry, it was likely he would sell them all. Business was so good in this town that eccentric young trade masters were putting them on loaves of bread and baking them, after all. It was not at all impossible that the apothecary would sell out.
The horse neighed and stopped, and just as Lawrence made to wheel around and head back into the crowd, he realized—
"Business is...good."
Here in this town where the market was lively, travelers were many, and everyone's business was booming. The town's wealth had to be proportionate to that.
If so, Lawrence mused as he stroked his beard, the ideas in his head clicking pleasantly into place.
When the notion was complete, Lawrence took the reins up yet again and headed the wagon back in its original direction.
A man—a traveler, by the look of him—shouted in anger at Lawrence's driving, but Lawrence merely begged it off with his mask of a merchant's smile.
At this sudden change, Holo peered at him dubiously.
Lawrence gave a short answer. "Let's drop by that trading company."
"...Mm. Huh?" Holo began to make a sound of assent, but it changed into a questioning tone as it left her mouth.
But Lawrence did not reply, simply continuing to drive the wagon in the same direction.
He needed money to buy the honeyed peach preserves, and if he did not have it, he merely needed to earn it.

Output:
Without money, goods could not be sold, which meant that where goods were selling, money had to be flowing.
The company to which this simple notion had brought Lawrence was the sort you might find anywhere, its modest size perfectly in proportion to the size of the town. Yet it was immediately evident that for some reason, this particular organization was burdened with an excess of money.
The sky was reddening with the setting sun, and though it was the hour when craftsmen would soon be heading home, there was a great clamor of people in front of this shop.
Men ran about this way and that, their eyes darting about with exhaustion and excitement. Some—merchants, probably—held ledgers as they shouted in hoarse voices.
What they seemed to be dealing in was not wheat nor grain nor fish, nor even furs or jewels.
It was wood. And iron.
Those were the raw materials out of which parts of some kind had been constructed, along with the tools for making them.
Literal mountains of such goods were piled on the company's loading docks.
"....What is this?" murmured Holo.
They had seen many busy companies, but nothing like the strange energy that pervaded here. While other trading houses would soon be closing for the day, here it seemed as though the main event was just about to start.
"It seems to be materials for building some sort of...something. A crow's nest? No, this is..."
Lawrence did not know what the strange assemblage of parts was for. But farther in, he saw heaps of specialized goods, and something occurred to him.
No wonder this company was doing such good business. He smiled involuntarily at the thought.
Trading companies made money by buying goods, then selling them, so their biggest opportunities for profit came when they could position themselves as a supplier for a large project of some kind. They would place orders with craftsmen, collect components, and move them along, converting them into their profit margin without letting them lie idle a single night.
Lawrence could certainly understand why this young master fellow would have hit upon the notion of baking bread topped with honeyed peach preserves. He must have felt as though he had discovered a fountain of gold.
He noticed Holo return to her senses and look dubiously around her, as though understanding why this trading company was so busy but unsure why she and Lawrence were here.
"Well, then," Lawrence murmured to himself. He climbed down from the wagon and strode calmly into the trading company.
It was so busy that nobody took notice of a single outsider like Lawrence walking in. Lawrence, for his part, had essentially memorized how to act natural in such situations.
Once he spied the man who seemed to be in charge, he spoke slowly and distinctly. "Hello, there. I've heard you're shorthanded, so I've brought my vehicle."
The merchant seemed not to have slept properly in days, and his eyes swiveled to glare at Lawrence.
In his hands were a quill pen and a tattered ledger, and his right eye drooped. Lawrence continued to smile as he waited for the man's answer.
Time seemed to have frozen, but the merchant finally returned to himself and spoke. "Ah, uh, yes. We've been waiting. Just take the goods straightaway. Which wagon's yours?"
His voice was hoarse and difficult to hear, and instead of an answer, Lawrence pointed to the item in question.
"What, that?" said the merchant rather rudely, but Lawrence was not flustered.
"I was thinking it would be best to load it as heavily as possible," said Lawrence deliberately.
"Mmm, it'll be slow, though...who recommended you to us? Why, I ought to...ah, well. Fine, load up what you can and leave. Quick about it, now."
Business paralyzed all sensibilities.
Lawrence was fully aware that in situations like these, those in charge of details like who was doing what job or who was assisting whom could not even try to keep track of them. So, brazenly, he followed up with another question.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Without money, goods could not be sold, which meant that where goods were selling, money had to be flowing.
The company to which this simple notion had brought Lawrence was the sort you might find anywhere, its modest size perfectly in proportion to the size of the town. Yet it was immediately evident that for some reason, this particular organization was burdened with an excess of money.
The sky was reddening with the setting sun, and though it was the hour when craftsmen would soon be heading home, there was a great clamor of people in front of this shop.
Men ran about this way and that, their eyes darting about with exhaustion and excitement. Some—merchants, probably—held ledgers as they shouted in hoarse voices.
What they seemed to be dealing in was not wheat nor grain nor fish, nor even furs or jewels.
It was wood. And iron.
Those were the raw materials out of which parts of some kind had been constructed, along with the tools for making them.
Literal mountains of such goods were piled on the company's loading docks.
"....What is this?" murmured Holo.
They had seen many busy companies, but nothing like the strange energy that pervaded here. While other trading houses would soon be closing for the day, here it seemed as though the main event was just about to start.
"It seems to be materials for building some sort of...something. A crow's nest? No, this is..."
Lawrence did not know what the strange assemblage of parts was for. But farther in, he saw heaps of specialized goods, and something occurred to him.
No wonder this company was doing such good business. He smiled involuntarily at the thought.
Trading companies made money by buying goods, then selling them, so their biggest opportunities for profit came when they could position themselves as a supplier for a large project of some kind. They would place orders with craftsmen, collect components, and move them along, converting them into their profit margin without letting them lie idle a single night.
Lawrence could certainly understand why this young master fellow would have hit upon the notion of baking bread topped with honeyed peach preserves. He must have felt as though he had discovered a fountain of gold.
He noticed Holo return to her senses and look dubiously around her, as though understanding why this trading company was so busy but unsure why she and Lawrence were here.
"Well, then," Lawrence murmured to himself. He climbed down from the wagon and strode calmly into the trading company.
It was so busy that nobody took notice of a single outsider like Lawrence walking in. Lawrence, for his part, had essentially memorized how to act natural in such situations.
Once he spied the man who seemed to be in charge, he spoke slowly and distinctly. "Hello, there. I've heard you're shorthanded, so I've brought my vehicle."
The merchant seemed not to have slept properly in days, and his eyes swiveled to glare at Lawrence.
In his hands were a quill pen and a tattered ledger, and his right eye drooped. Lawrence continued to smile as he waited for the man's answer.
Time seemed to have frozen, but the merchant finally returned to himself and spoke. "Ah, uh, yes. We've been waiting. Just take the goods straightaway. Which wagon's yours?"
His voice was hoarse and difficult to hear, and instead of an answer, Lawrence pointed to the item in question.
"What, that?" said the merchant rather rudely, but Lawrence was not flustered.
"I was thinking it would be best to load it as heavily as possible," said Lawrence deliberately.
"Mmm, it'll be slow, though...who recommended you to us? Why, I ought to...ah, well. Fine, load up what you can and leave. Quick about it, now."
Business paralyzed all sensibilities.
Lawrence was fully aware that in situations like these, those in charge of details like who was doing what job or who was assisting whom could not even try to keep track of them. So, brazenly, he followed up with another question.

Output:
The man was mid-yawn, and made a face like a frog who'd had an insect fly right into his mouth and swallowed it right on the spot.
He had probably been about to hurl some abuse or at least some words of shock, but was too exhausted to turn down help, whatever form it took. He pointed to a man in the far corner who was battling some parchment on a desk. "Ask that fellow over there," he spat.
Lawrence looked in the direction indicated. He scratched his head, every bit the dullard merchant. "Yes, sir, right away, sir," he said.
The man seemed to forget about Lawrence that very same instant and set about giving orders to the men working on the loading dock.
Meanwhile, Lawrence ambled over to the man at the desk to receive his work orders.
There is an old story in the northlands that goes like this.
The men of a certain village could see to the far edge of the land, and if a bird took wing beyond the clouds, they could still shoot it down with their bows. Likewise, the women of this village could smile happily no matter how cold the winter grew, and even while they slept, their hands continued to spin yarn.
One day, a mysterious traveler came to this village, and as thanks for the night he stayed there, he taught the villagers how to read and write. Up until that point, they knew nothing of writing and had relied on oral traditions to remember their history and important events. For this reason, whenever anybody died from an accident or illness, the loss was felt very keenly.
They were very thankful to the traveler.
Then, once the traveler had departed on his journey, they realized something.
The men could no longer see to the ends of the sky, and the women began to shirk their work, no longer able to do it without tiring. Only the children, who had not learned to read or write, were unaffected.
It was this story that came to Lawrence's mind as he regarded the pathetic young man who toiled drowsily away at the desk, constantly fighting off sleep as he frantically wrote.
Once the fetters of letters are around your ankles, they may as well be around your neck, went the the old phrase. Even the devil in hell would've had a little more mercy, Lawrence could not help but think.
"Excuse me," he said. Everything changed when there was money to be made.
The young merchant looked up at Lawrence like a sluggish bear. "...Yes?"
"The boss over there said that I could ask you about where these goods go and my wages as well." He was not lying. It just was not the entire truth.
The young merchant looked in the direction Lawrence indicated, then back at Lawrence, staring vacantly at him for a moment. The pen in his hand did not stop moving. It was a bit of a performance.
"Ah, er...yes, quite. Well..." Papers and parchments were piled atop the desk one over the other, even as he spoke. Perhaps they corresponded to the amount of goods that were passing through. In any case, they were many. "The destination is...Do you know Le Houaix? There are signs pointing the way, so you should be fine, but...take...those goods there. Any of those, as much as you can carry."
As the man talked, his attention seemed to drift, his eyelids drooping and his speech slowing.
"And my wages?" Lawrence asked, patting the man's shoulder, which brought him back to wakefulness with a jerk.
"Wages? Ah, of course...Er...There are labels on the goods, so...just bring those back. Each one should exchange for about...a trenni...or so...," the man murmured, the words becoming mush in his mouth as he fell forward, asleep.
He would probably be in trouble if he was caught, but Lawrence felt bad for the young man and left him be, starting to walk away.
Lawrence had only taken three steps before he turned around and shook the sleeping man awake. He'd forgotten the other reason he had come here.
"Hey, you there, wake up. Hey!"
"Huh, whuh...?"


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
The man was mid-yawn, and made a face like a frog who'd had an insect fly right into his mouth and swallowed it right on the spot.
He had probably been about to hurl some abuse or at least some words of shock, but was too exhausted to turn down help, whatever form it took. He pointed to a man in the far corner who was battling some parchment on a desk. "Ask that fellow over there," he spat.
Lawrence looked in the direction indicated. He scratched his head, every bit the dullard merchant. "Yes, sir, right away, sir," he said.
The man seemed to forget about Lawrence that very same instant and set about giving orders to the men working on the loading dock.
Meanwhile, Lawrence ambled over to the man at the desk to receive his work orders.
There is an old story in the northlands that goes like this.
The men of a certain village could see to the far edge of the land, and if a bird took wing beyond the clouds, they could still shoot it down with their bows. Likewise, the women of this village could smile happily no matter how cold the winter grew, and even while they slept, their hands continued to spin yarn.
One day, a mysterious traveler came to this village, and as thanks for the night he stayed there, he taught the villagers how to read and write. Up until that point, they knew nothing of writing and had relied on oral traditions to remember their history and important events. For this reason, whenever anybody died from an accident or illness, the loss was felt very keenly.
They were very thankful to the traveler.
Then, once the traveler had departed on his journey, they realized something.
The men could no longer see to the ends of the sky, and the women began to shirk their work, no longer able to do it without tiring. Only the children, who had not learned to read or write, were unaffected.
It was this story that came to Lawrence's mind as he regarded the pathetic young man who toiled drowsily away at the desk, constantly fighting off sleep as he frantically wrote.
Once the fetters of letters are around your ankles, they may as well be around your neck, went the the old phrase. Even the devil in hell would've had a little more mercy, Lawrence could not help but think.
"Excuse me," he said. Everything changed when there was money to be made.
The young merchant looked up at Lawrence like a sluggish bear. "...Yes?"
"The boss over there said that I could ask you about where these goods go and my wages as well." He was not lying. It just was not the entire truth.
The young merchant looked in the direction Lawrence indicated, then back at Lawrence, staring vacantly at him for a moment. The pen in his hand did not stop moving. It was a bit of a performance.
"Ah, er...yes, quite. Well..." Papers and parchments were piled atop the desk one over the other, even as he spoke. Perhaps they corresponded to the amount of goods that were passing through. In any case, they were many. "The destination is...Do you know Le Houaix? There are signs pointing the way, so you should be fine, but...take...those goods there. Any of those, as much as you can carry."
As the man talked, his attention seemed to drift, his eyelids drooping and his speech slowing.
"And my wages?" Lawrence asked, patting the man's shoulder, which brought him back to wakefulness with a jerk.
"Wages? Ah, of course...Er...There are labels on the goods, so...just bring those back. Each one should exchange for about...a trenni...or so...," the man murmured, the words becoming mush in his mouth as he fell forward, asleep.
He would probably be in trouble if he was caught, but Lawrence felt bad for the young man and left him be, starting to walk away.
Lawrence had only taken three steps before he turned around and shook the sleeping man awake. He'd forgotten the other reason he had come here.
"Hey, you there, wake up. Hey!"
"Huh, whuh...?"

Output:
The man nodded, though whether it was out of exhaustion or in response to Lawrence's question was difficult to tell. He indicated farther back in the building. "The maid...is in the rear, so...ask her. You can probably get...some food, too..."
"My thanks." Lawrence gave the man a pat on the arm and left him.
Though Lawrence had done the man the favor of waking him up, he slumped immediately back into sleep—but it was no concern of Lawrence's now.
Lawrence approached the side of the wagon where Holo still sat. "I've found us a room."
Beneath her hood, her amber eyes flashed at Lawrence, and in them he could see a mixture of admiration and exasperation at his roughshod tactics. She looked away and then back, this time with a wordless question. Just what are you planning to do?
"I've got a job to do."
"A job? You—" Holo furrowed her brow and soon arrived at the answer, but Lawrence did not engage her further.
He prompted her to get down from the wagon. "They'll probably be at it all night, so it might be noisy."
Lawrence pulled on the reins with his left hand, bringing the wagon into the loading area. Given the commotion, he doubted anyone would have helped him in even if he had asked, but now that he was here, the men inside would just do their job. And indeed, the dockhands converged on the wagon, and in no time at all it was fully loaded.
Holo watched the scene, eyes wide, but then her expression began to turn steadily more displeased. She stared at him. Saying nothing, not moving.
"This'll earn us a bit of money. And a room, but..." He'd already explained what sort of room that would be.
It was clear that at this rate they faced making camp outside the town, and Lawrence wanted to give the exhausted Holo at least one night under a roof.
"We'll worry about tomorrow when it comes. For tonight, at least, let's...H-hey!"
Right in the middle of his explanation, Holo stormed off into the trading company.
She had pluck and wit enough to get herself a room, Lawrence knew. "What a bother," he muttered with a sigh, whereupon he noticed Holo—who was talking to a woman who was probably the maid—look over her shoulder and glance at him.
She moved her mouth as though she wanted to say something, but in the end did not open it. No doubt it had been some invective of some kind.
Fool.
The same word could mean very different things, depending on who said it and the circumstances surrounding the people.
Led by the maid, Holo disappeared farther into the building, alone. He had to laugh at her constant stubbornness, but he knew she was not much different from him in that regard. Lawrence was just as tired as she was, yet here he was, taking on extra work without so much as a break just so he could buy the honeyed peach preserves—the preserves upon which she had surely given up.
Lawrence climbed back atop the driver's seat and departed, the wagon bed piled high with goods. He felt a certain ticklish amusement, as though he were playing a perverse game.
Or perhaps it was what happened next that made him feel that way. As the wagon pulled away from the loading dock, he looked back and up at the building's third floor, and just then, a window opened and Holo looked out.
She had already taken out some of the honeyed ginger preserves, and putting a piece in her mouth, she leaned her chin on the windowsill.
"Truly, such a foolish male you are," her face said.
In spite of himself, Lawrence had the urge to raise a hand in a wave, but he resisted, gripping the reins and facing forward.
He gave the leathers a flick and made for the village of Le Houaix.
The merchant at the company had told Lawrence that he would know Le Houaix when he saw it, and shortly after he left the town, he knew the reason why.
The name Le Houaix was hastily scribbled on a temporary-looking wooden sign. Moreover, the town seemed to expect deliveries to continue through the night, as the path was well lit here and there by torches.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
The man nodded, though whether it was out of exhaustion or in response to Lawrence's question was difficult to tell. He indicated farther back in the building. "The maid...is in the rear, so...ask her. You can probably get...some food, too..."
"My thanks." Lawrence gave the man a pat on the arm and left him.
Though Lawrence had done the man the favor of waking him up, he slumped immediately back into sleep—but it was no concern of Lawrence's now.
Lawrence approached the side of the wagon where Holo still sat. "I've found us a room."
Beneath her hood, her amber eyes flashed at Lawrence, and in them he could see a mixture of admiration and exasperation at his roughshod tactics. She looked away and then back, this time with a wordless question. Just what are you planning to do?
"I've got a job to do."
"A job? You—" Holo furrowed her brow and soon arrived at the answer, but Lawrence did not engage her further.
He prompted her to get down from the wagon. "They'll probably be at it all night, so it might be noisy."
Lawrence pulled on the reins with his left hand, bringing the wagon into the loading area. Given the commotion, he doubted anyone would have helped him in even if he had asked, but now that he was here, the men inside would just do their job. And indeed, the dockhands converged on the wagon, and in no time at all it was fully loaded.
Holo watched the scene, eyes wide, but then her expression began to turn steadily more displeased. She stared at him. Saying nothing, not moving.
"This'll earn us a bit of money. And a room, but..." He'd already explained what sort of room that would be.
It was clear that at this rate they faced making camp outside the town, and Lawrence wanted to give the exhausted Holo at least one night under a roof.
"We'll worry about tomorrow when it comes. For tonight, at least, let's...H-hey!"
Right in the middle of his explanation, Holo stormed off into the trading company.
She had pluck and wit enough to get herself a room, Lawrence knew. "What a bother," he muttered with a sigh, whereupon he noticed Holo—who was talking to a woman who was probably the maid—look over her shoulder and glance at him.
She moved her mouth as though she wanted to say something, but in the end did not open it. No doubt it had been some invective of some kind.
Fool.
The same word could mean very different things, depending on who said it and the circumstances surrounding the people.
Led by the maid, Holo disappeared farther into the building, alone. He had to laugh at her constant stubbornness, but he knew she was not much different from him in that regard. Lawrence was just as tired as she was, yet here he was, taking on extra work without so much as a break just so he could buy the honeyed peach preserves—the preserves upon which she had surely given up.
Lawrence climbed back atop the driver's seat and departed, the wagon bed piled high with goods. He felt a certain ticklish amusement, as though he were playing a perverse game.
Or perhaps it was what happened next that made him feel that way. As the wagon pulled away from the loading dock, he looked back and up at the building's third floor, and just then, a window opened and Holo looked out.
She had already taken out some of the honeyed ginger preserves, and putting a piece in her mouth, she leaned her chin on the windowsill.
"Truly, such a foolish male you are," her face said.
In spite of himself, Lawrence had the urge to raise a hand in a wave, but he resisted, gripping the reins and facing forward.
He gave the leathers a flick and made for the village of Le Houaix.
The merchant at the company had told Lawrence that he would know Le Houaix when he saw it, and shortly after he left the town, he knew the reason why.
The name Le Houaix was hastily scribbled on a temporary-looking wooden sign. Moreover, the town seemed to expect deliveries to continue through the night, as the path was well lit here and there by torches.

Output:
The sky had turned red and would soon be a deep, dark blue.
Everyone Lawrence passed seemed uniformly exhausted, and many of the drivers of empty-bedded wagons were asleep in the drivers' seats.
When he looked back, he could see others like him, all headed for the same destination. Some carried goods on their backs, others in bags on packhorses, and some drove loaded wagons. Their clothes and tack were all different, and all spoke very clearly of having been suddenly and temporarily assembled for the job.
The town seemed to be surrounded by fertile land, which would mean it would need a mill to grind the grain from its bountiful harvests. But waterwheels were not only useful for grain. Lush land would attract more people, and more people would bring more needs. Smithing, dyeing, spinning—all of these could make uses of a waterwheel's power.
However, constructing and maintaining such a thing was a very expensive proposition, and rivers where they were built tended to be owned by the nobility. Even when a waterwheel was needed, its construction would often become tangled among conflicting interests and schemes.
Given how busy the trading company was, it seemed those interests had all finally been resolved and construction had been decided upon.
The hurry came from the thaw that would come with spring's arrival, when the melting snow would make construction very difficult. The company's plan was surely to build the dikes and install the wheel while the river was low. The rising water that would come with the spring thaw would power the wheel quite nicely.
Lawrence did not know whether it was going to succeed, but he could see the desperation in the operation. Of course, that was what allowed him to waltz right in the way he had, so he thanked his luck for that.
Moreover, this was the first time in quite a while he had conducted the wagon without Holo at his side, and while it would have been overstatement to say it was a relief, it was certainly a pleasant change of pace.
Formerly, he would have found driving alone an unavoidably lonely activity, and it made him reflect on how fickle humans were.
As the sun set, he shivered at a far-off wolf howl—this, too, for the first time in quite a while.
He stifled a yawn and kept his attention on the road, the better to keep the wagon's wheels out of holes and puddles. Soon he came to Le Houaix, where the glow of red torchlight brightened the moonlit night.
To the north of the village was a forest nestled against a steep upward slope, and through it passed the driver. Normally nightfall would drown the forest in darkness, but here the riverbank had been cleared and fires built along it so that it looked almost like a river of fire.
Here and there some workers caught what sleep they could, but Lawrence could see other craftsmen toiling away by the river. It was a larger construction project than Lawrence had anticipated; it seemed they were planning to build multiple waterwheels at once.
It seemed likely to yield unusually large profits.
Lawrence delivered the goods and received wooden tags in exchange, then cheerfully climbed back onto the wagon. His horse did not speak human language, but looked back at Lawrence with his sad purple eyes, as though to say, "Please, no more."
Lawrence nonetheless took up the reins and wheeled the wagon around, and with a smart crack, he urged his horse forward. This was a simple business—how much money he could make would depend on how many times he could repeat the trip.
The busy, hurried work made him reflect on his rarely remembered past. It might mean only trouble for his horse, but Lawrence came to smile thinly and drew a blanket over his shoulders.
How many trips would it take to reach the honeyed peach preserves? He mused over the question as the wagon rolled on under the moonlight.
The way to Le Houaix was chaotic.