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

Input:
She gave the unfriendly smile that was her specialty.
Mark now shook his head frantically, much like his apprentice, as they looked to Lawrence with beseeching eyes.
"At this point, all we can do is observe our opponent's actions," said Lawrence.
"How treacherous."
Holo's sharp appraisal pierced Lawrence's heart.
"I'd be happier if you called it a hidden contest. He'll certainly have someone watching our moves as well, you know," Lawrence said.
Mark recovered his composure enough to differ. "I wonder about that. Amati ran away from home and came alone all the way to this town, achieving all his success independently. And there's his youth to consider. He's very self-confident. Not only does he not give much thought to the connections between merchants, he would probably consider tricks like that beneath him. He trusts only in his eye for good fish and his ability to sell them. That and the protection of the gods."
Amati sounded more like a knight than a merchant to Lawrence, who found himself envying the boy's ability to achieve such success on his own.
"That'd explain why he'd fall so hard for a charming girl who'd just arrived in town," Mark continued. "The townswomen are even more closely connected than the merchants. They seem to care only about reputation and are always watching each other. If one starts to stick out a little more, the others beat her down. I'm sure he finds it distasteful. Of course, not all women are like that, as I found out when I married my Adele."
As a traveling merchant, Lawrence well understood Mark's explanation. The town could certainly look that way from the outside.
Lawrence glanced sideways at Holo. He felt that yes, if he was in similar circumstances and saw a girl like Holo, he might well fall for her instantly—all the more so if he thought she was just an ordinary girl.
"Amati may well be as you say, but I will not hesitate to use any connection I need to. Treachery may be forbidden when knights duel, but there's no crying in a contest of merchants."
"I surely agree," said Mark. He looked at Holo.
Lawrence likewise looked at her again. Holo put her hands to her cheeks in a gesture of embarrassment, as though she had been waiting for the moment, and spoke.
"I wish just once someone would attack me from the front."
No doubt Mark was finally realizing, Lawrence mused, that there was no winning against Holo.
In the end, Lawrence decided to use Mark's connections to get more information on Amati. He made sure to mention to Mark the peddler Batos's hint regarding Amati's potential reserves of capital.
Lawrence trusted Holo, but there was no telling what she would do if he rested on his laurels in this contest. And there was always the possibility of being able to make some money in Amati's wake.
Holo and Lawrence couldn't very well hang around Mark's shop all day long, so after Lawrence asked Mark to help him with information, they put the stall behind them.
The town was becoming livelier and livelier, and the crowds did not diminish at all as they passed from the market to the plaza.
Midday approached, and people lined up in front of every stall alongside the road. Holo was not shy about lining up herself, clutching the money she'd relieved Lawrence of.
Lawrence watched her from afar, thinking it was just about time for the midday bell to ring, when he heard a low, lazy tone sound.
"A horn?"
The horn's sound made him think of shepherds, and for a moment, he remembered Norah and the danger they had faced together in Ruvinheigen. If the keen-eyed Holo saw through him, though, it would be trouble.
Lawrence chased the thought from his mind and tried to see where the sound came from just as Holo returned, bearing the fried bread she'd managed to successfully buy.
"Did I not just hear a shepherd's horn?" she asked.
"You did. I wasn't sure, but if you call it a shepherd's horn, then it must be so."
"It fairly overflows with the scent of food here. I cannot tell if there are sheep or not."

Output:
"And no comely shepherdesses."
Lawrence had been expecting the jab, so he was relatively unaffected.
"Hmph," said Holo. "When you fail to react, it does rather feel like I am trying to win your affection."
"I'm just terribly delighted. Scarily so."
Holo happily bit into her bread with an audible crunch. Lawrence chuckled and looked out over the plaza again, realizing that the crowd seemed to be flowing in a particular direction. People were heading for the center of the city. Perhaps the horn had been the signal for the opening of the festival.
"Sounds like the festival has begun. Shall we go see?"
"'Twould be boring to do naught but eat."
Lawrence's smile was a bit forced as he started walking; Holo took his hand and followed.
They moved with the crowds, bearing north along the marketplace's edge, until eventually they began to hear cheers amid the sounds of drum and horn.
All manner of people were gathering—town girls dressed much like Holo, apprentice craftsmen (their faces black with soot after having snuck away from their work), itinerant priests with the customary three feathers pinned to their robes, and even lightly armored men who might have been knights or mercenaries.
The noise seemed to come from the intersection of the two main streets that quartered the town, but the crowds made it impossible to see. Holo craned her neck to try and catch a glimpse ahead, but even Lawrence couldn't see past the crowds, and he was much taller than Holo.
Lawrence remembered something, and taking Holo's hand, he ducked into an alleyway.
Once they were a few steps into the alley, things were much quieter, unlike the clamorous street. Here and there were beggars clothed in rags, dozing away as though to proclaim their disinterest in the festival, along with craftsmen who busily prepared the wares they would sell in their stalls, their workshops open to the alley.
Holo soon seemed to understand where they were heading and silently followed.
If the festival was being held in the main streets, they would be able to see the sights perfectly well from their room at the inn.
Holo and Lawrence walked easily down the uncrowded back alleys, entering the inn from its rear door and climbing to the second floor.
It seemed that someone else had the same idea and was making a business out of it. As they arrived on the second floor, they noticed several of the doors along the hallway leading to their room had been left open and a bored-looking merchant sat on a chair in front of them, idly playing with a coin.
"We'll have to be thankful to Amati on this count anyway."
Upon entering their room and opening the window, they immediately had front-row seats.
To see everything that was happening at the large intersection, Holo and Lawrence had but to lean a bit out the window, and even without leaning, they had a perfectly acceptable view.
The musicians playing pipes and drums in the intersection were clad head to toe in ominous black robes that obscured even their sex.
Behind the group in black walked another strangely dressed troupe.
Some of the costumes consisted of sewn-together pieces of clothing large enough to cover any number of people. Such a costume had several people hidden underneath it and was topped with a mask where the head would be. Other performers wore robes that concealed what must have been one person riding on another's shoulders, their head popping out of the top of the garment. Some carried great swords made from thin pieces of wood; others had bows taller than they were. They brandished the weapons wildly to great cries from the crowd.
But just as Lawrence thought that was all there would be, there was a noticeably louder shout from the crowd, and a new set of instruments could be heard.
Holo gave a small cry of surprise, and Lawrence leaned his head out the window so as not to block her view.
The inn sat at the southeast corner of the intersection, and it seemed another group in strange costumes was emerging from the east.


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

Input:
"And no comely shepherdesses."
Lawrence had been expecting the jab, so he was relatively unaffected.
"Hmph," said Holo. "When you fail to react, it does rather feel like I am trying to win your affection."
"I'm just terribly delighted. Scarily so."
Holo happily bit into her bread with an audible crunch. Lawrence chuckled and looked out over the plaza again, realizing that the crowd seemed to be flowing in a particular direction. People were heading for the center of the city. Perhaps the horn had been the signal for the opening of the festival.
"Sounds like the festival has begun. Shall we go see?"
"'Twould be boring to do naught but eat."
Lawrence's smile was a bit forced as he started walking; Holo took his hand and followed.
They moved with the crowds, bearing north along the marketplace's edge, until eventually they began to hear cheers amid the sounds of drum and horn.
All manner of people were gathering—town girls dressed much like Holo, apprentice craftsmen (their faces black with soot after having snuck away from their work), itinerant priests with the customary three feathers pinned to their robes, and even lightly armored men who might have been knights or mercenaries.
The noise seemed to come from the intersection of the two main streets that quartered the town, but the crowds made it impossible to see. Holo craned her neck to try and catch a glimpse ahead, but even Lawrence couldn't see past the crowds, and he was much taller than Holo.
Lawrence remembered something, and taking Holo's hand, he ducked into an alleyway.
Once they were a few steps into the alley, things were much quieter, unlike the clamorous street. Here and there were beggars clothed in rags, dozing away as though to proclaim their disinterest in the festival, along with craftsmen who busily prepared the wares they would sell in their stalls, their workshops open to the alley.
Holo soon seemed to understand where they were heading and silently followed.
If the festival was being held in the main streets, they would be able to see the sights perfectly well from their room at the inn.
Holo and Lawrence walked easily down the uncrowded back alleys, entering the inn from its rear door and climbing to the second floor.
It seemed that someone else had the same idea and was making a business out of it. As they arrived on the second floor, they noticed several of the doors along the hallway leading to their room had been left open and a bored-looking merchant sat on a chair in front of them, idly playing with a coin.
"We'll have to be thankful to Amati on this count anyway."
Upon entering their room and opening the window, they immediately had front-row seats.
To see everything that was happening at the large intersection, Holo and Lawrence had but to lean a bit out the window, and even without leaning, they had a perfectly acceptable view.
The musicians playing pipes and drums in the intersection were clad head to toe in ominous black robes that obscured even their sex.
Behind the group in black walked another strangely dressed troupe.
Some of the costumes consisted of sewn-together pieces of clothing large enough to cover any number of people. Such a costume had several people hidden underneath it and was topped with a mask where the head would be. Other performers wore robes that concealed what must have been one person riding on another's shoulders, their head popping out of the top of the garment. Some carried great swords made from thin pieces of wood; others had bows taller than they were. They brandished the weapons wildly to great cries from the crowd.
But just as Lawrence thought that was all there would be, there was a noticeably louder shout from the crowd, and a new set of instruments could be heard.
Holo gave a small cry of surprise, and Lawrence leaned his head out the window so as not to block her view.
The inn sat at the southeast corner of the intersection, and it seemed another group in strange costumes was emerging from the east.

Output:
Some people had paint-blackened faces and wore cow horns upon their heads; others carried bird wings on their backs. Many were covered in animal skins of some sort, and it seemed likely that if Holo was to walk among them with her ears and tail exposed, no one would bat an eye. After that column passed, there arose a riotous cry and with it appeared a giant straw figure far bigger than a human. It was vaguely lupine in shape, four legged, and larger even than Holo's wolf form. The figure was supported on a wooden rack, which was carried by ten men or so.
Lawrence was about to say something about it to Holo, but he abandoned the notion when he saw the intense focus with which she watched the festival.
Animal costume after animal costume appeared in the intersection-cum-stage as the column continued along.
The black-painted marchers at the head of the procession now pointed at the signposts that had been erected here and there in the intersection, milling about as they did so.
Seeing this, Lawrence guessed that this was no mere costume parade. He thought there was some kind of tale being told—unfortunately, he was not sure. He was just thinking he would ask Mark about this later when he saw another procession arrive from the north.
These were normal folk, though some were dressed in tatters, some in noble robes, and some as knights and soldiers. The single commonality was the spoon that each one of them carried. Lawrence wondered why spoons, of all things, when the three groups collided in the intersection and began crying out in a language he had never heard. A slight ripple of nervousness ran through the assembled spectators as they watched the exchange; Lawrence, too, felt some trepidation.
Just as he was wondering what would happen next, the black-clad group all pointed in the same direction as one.
It was southwest that they pointed, and everyone's gaze soon turned that way.
Carts loaded with large barrels had evidently been prepared beforehand. Their stewards laughed loudly (if somewhat forcedly) and pushed the carts into the intersection.
The black-clad people began to play the instruments they held, the people in costumes began to sing, and the barrel carriers opened the barrels and began to sprinkle their liquid contents about.
As if that were some kind of signal, the onlookers now flooded into the intersection and began to dance.
The ring of dancers expanded rapidly. Many of the strangely dressed revelers had jumped out of the intersection and danced along the sides of the streets.
The merriment spread, and in no time at all, the entire boulevard was a huge ballroom. In the middle of the intersection, the participants of the original procession linked arms and began to dance in a circle. The festival was well and truly under way now; the singing and dancing would continue into the night.
It seemed that the opening of this festival—this revel—was complete.
Holo pulled her body—which heretofore had leaned well out of the window—back into the room.
"I'm going to go dance," she said, though it was not clear if she spoke to Lawrence or not.
Lawrence could count the number of times he'd danced like this on one hand. He tended to avoid festivals such as this one, and dancing alone was always a depressing affair.
Thus he hesitated for a moment, but he soon changed his mind after seeing Holo's outstretched hand.
Everyone would be drunk anyway—no one would notice if his dancing was a little clumsy.
And Holo's outstretched hand was worth ten thousand gold pieces.
"All right," said Lawrence, taking Holo's hand and preparing himself.
Holo laughed at his overserious resolve. "Just mind you don't tread on my feet," she said with a smile.
"...I will do my best."
The two exited the inn and plunged into the reveling crowds.
How many years had it been since he'd celebrated so much?
Lawrence had danced, drunk, and laughed so much he could not help but wonder.


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

Input:
Some people had paint-blackened faces and wore cow horns upon their heads; others carried bird wings on their backs. Many were covered in animal skins of some sort, and it seemed likely that if Holo was to walk among them with her ears and tail exposed, no one would bat an eye. After that column passed, there arose a riotous cry and with it appeared a giant straw figure far bigger than a human. It was vaguely lupine in shape, four legged, and larger even than Holo's wolf form. The figure was supported on a wooden rack, which was carried by ten men or so.
Lawrence was about to say something about it to Holo, but he abandoned the notion when he saw the intense focus with which she watched the festival.
Animal costume after animal costume appeared in the intersection-cum-stage as the column continued along.
The black-painted marchers at the head of the procession now pointed at the signposts that had been erected here and there in the intersection, milling about as they did so.
Seeing this, Lawrence guessed that this was no mere costume parade. He thought there was some kind of tale being told—unfortunately, he was not sure. He was just thinking he would ask Mark about this later when he saw another procession arrive from the north.
These were normal folk, though some were dressed in tatters, some in noble robes, and some as knights and soldiers. The single commonality was the spoon that each one of them carried. Lawrence wondered why spoons, of all things, when the three groups collided in the intersection and began crying out in a language he had never heard. A slight ripple of nervousness ran through the assembled spectators as they watched the exchange; Lawrence, too, felt some trepidation.
Just as he was wondering what would happen next, the black-clad group all pointed in the same direction as one.
It was southwest that they pointed, and everyone's gaze soon turned that way.
Carts loaded with large barrels had evidently been prepared beforehand. Their stewards laughed loudly (if somewhat forcedly) and pushed the carts into the intersection.
The black-clad people began to play the instruments they held, the people in costumes began to sing, and the barrel carriers opened the barrels and began to sprinkle their liquid contents about.
As if that were some kind of signal, the onlookers now flooded into the intersection and began to dance.
The ring of dancers expanded rapidly. Many of the strangely dressed revelers had jumped out of the intersection and danced along the sides of the streets.
The merriment spread, and in no time at all, the entire boulevard was a huge ballroom. In the middle of the intersection, the participants of the original procession linked arms and began to dance in a circle. The festival was well and truly under way now; the singing and dancing would continue into the night.
It seemed that the opening of this festival—this revel—was complete.
Holo pulled her body—which heretofore had leaned well out of the window—back into the room.
"I'm going to go dance," she said, though it was not clear if she spoke to Lawrence or not.
Lawrence could count the number of times he'd danced like this on one hand. He tended to avoid festivals such as this one, and dancing alone was always a depressing affair.
Thus he hesitated for a moment, but he soon changed his mind after seeing Holo's outstretched hand.
Everyone would be drunk anyway—no one would notice if his dancing was a little clumsy.
And Holo's outstretched hand was worth ten thousand gold pieces.
"All right," said Lawrence, taking Holo's hand and preparing himself.
Holo laughed at his overserious resolve. "Just mind you don't tread on my feet," she said with a smile.
"...I will do my best."
The two exited the inn and plunged into the reveling crowds.
How many years had it been since he'd celebrated so much?
Lawrence had danced, drunk, and laughed so much he could not help but wonder.

Output:
Normally, once the fun had passed, it was followed by a rush of terrible loneliness.
But as he helped Holo, unsteady on her feet from a surfeit of merriment and wine, up the inn stairs, the heat of the moment faded to a pleasant warmth. As long as Holo was with him, he felt, the celebration would continue.
The inn room's window had been left open, and the sounds of the continuing festival filtered through it. The night was young, and the merchants and craftsmen who had to work through the day were only now beginning to join in the festivities.
The festival seemed to have entered a new phase. As they returned to the inn, Lawrence had looked back at the intersection to see it filled with people busily coming and going.
If Holo had had any strength remaining, she surely would have wanted to see. Unfortunately, she was exhausted.
After putting her to bed and setting her things in order (continuing his manservant duties from the previous day), Lawrence sighed.
It was not, however, an unhappy sigh. It came out as he looked at Holo's flushed cheeks as she lay sideways and innocent on the bed.
He felt a bit bad for Amati. He was no longer even remotely worried about having to fulfill the contract.
Far from it—in fact, he'd forgotten about it entirely until they had returned to the inn.
Once they came back, the innkeeper told Lawrence there was a message for him. It was from Mark; the message was "I've found how Amati plans to make the money—come to the shop as soon as you can."
The first thought that crossed Lawrence's mind was I'll go tomorrow. Normally such procrastination would never have occurred to him, and when he thought on it, it illustrated just how low of a priority it was for him.
What concerned him more than Mark's message was the letter that had come with it. It was sealed with a wax stamp and had "Diana" written in a lovely hand on the envelope. The letter had apparently been delivered by a stout man with a coffin-like build, which had to be Batos.
Lawrence had asked the chronicler to please let him know if she should happen to recall anything more about Yoitsu, which is what he expected the letter to be about. He considered opening it right then and there, but he decided that once he sat down and opened the envelope, he would be even less inclined to go visit Mark, so he decided against it.
Lawrence slipped the envelope back into his coat, and closing the window against the clamor still wafting in from the street, he headed out.
Just as he was about to open the door, he felt a gaze on his back, and looking behind him, he saw Holo forcing her sleep-heavy eyes open to look at him.
"I'm just going out for a bit."
"...Quite, and with a letter from a female tucked near your breast?" Her irritation did not seem to come from her struggle to stay awake.
"Aye, and she's a beauty, I might add. Does it bother you?"
"...Fool."
"She's a chronicler. Do you know what that is? She's the one telling me about Yoitsu. She's quite knowledgeable about the tales from the northlands. I haven't read the letter yet, but just talking to her yesterday gained us some excellent information. I even heard a story about you."
Holo rubbed her eyes like a cat washing its face, and then she sat up. "...A story? About me?"
"A town called Lenos has a story of you. Holoh of the Wheat Tail. That's you, is it not?"
"...I've no idea. But what do you mean by 'excellent information'?" With her homeland as the subject of conversation, Holo was now fully awake.
"Part of the tale included the direction from which you arrived in the town."
"I-in..." Holo's eyes widened and she froze, emotion writ large on her face. "In truth?"
"I've no reason to lie, do I? Evidently you arrived in Lenos from the forest east of it, so the mountains southwest of Nyohhira and east of Lenos are where we'll find Yoitsu."


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

Input:
Normally, once the fun had passed, it was followed by a rush of terrible loneliness.
But as he helped Holo, unsteady on her feet from a surfeit of merriment and wine, up the inn stairs, the heat of the moment faded to a pleasant warmth. As long as Holo was with him, he felt, the celebration would continue.
The inn room's window had been left open, and the sounds of the continuing festival filtered through it. The night was young, and the merchants and craftsmen who had to work through the day were only now beginning to join in the festivities.
The festival seemed to have entered a new phase. As they returned to the inn, Lawrence had looked back at the intersection to see it filled with people busily coming and going.
If Holo had had any strength remaining, she surely would have wanted to see. Unfortunately, she was exhausted.
After putting her to bed and setting her things in order (continuing his manservant duties from the previous day), Lawrence sighed.
It was not, however, an unhappy sigh. It came out as he looked at Holo's flushed cheeks as she lay sideways and innocent on the bed.
He felt a bit bad for Amati. He was no longer even remotely worried about having to fulfill the contract.
Far from it—in fact, he'd forgotten about it entirely until they had returned to the inn.
Once they came back, the innkeeper told Lawrence there was a message for him. It was from Mark; the message was "I've found how Amati plans to make the money—come to the shop as soon as you can."
The first thought that crossed Lawrence's mind was I'll go tomorrow. Normally such procrastination would never have occurred to him, and when he thought on it, it illustrated just how low of a priority it was for him.
What concerned him more than Mark's message was the letter that had come with it. It was sealed with a wax stamp and had "Diana" written in a lovely hand on the envelope. The letter had apparently been delivered by a stout man with a coffin-like build, which had to be Batos.
Lawrence had asked the chronicler to please let him know if she should happen to recall anything more about Yoitsu, which is what he expected the letter to be about. He considered opening it right then and there, but he decided that once he sat down and opened the envelope, he would be even less inclined to go visit Mark, so he decided against it.
Lawrence slipped the envelope back into his coat, and closing the window against the clamor still wafting in from the street, he headed out.
Just as he was about to open the door, he felt a gaze on his back, and looking behind him, he saw Holo forcing her sleep-heavy eyes open to look at him.
"I'm just going out for a bit."
"...Quite, and with a letter from a female tucked near your breast?" Her irritation did not seem to come from her struggle to stay awake.
"Aye, and she's a beauty, I might add. Does it bother you?"
"...Fool."
"She's a chronicler. Do you know what that is? She's the one telling me about Yoitsu. She's quite knowledgeable about the tales from the northlands. I haven't read the letter yet, but just talking to her yesterday gained us some excellent information. I even heard a story about you."
Holo rubbed her eyes like a cat washing its face, and then she sat up. "...A story? About me?"
"A town called Lenos has a story of you. Holoh of the Wheat Tail. That's you, is it not?"
"...I've no idea. But what do you mean by 'excellent information'?" With her homeland as the subject of conversation, Holo was now fully awake.
"Part of the tale included the direction from which you arrived in the town."
"I-in..." Holo's eyes widened and she froze, emotion writ large on her face. "In truth?"
"I've no reason to lie, do I? Evidently you arrived in Lenos from the forest east of it, so the mountains southwest of Nyohhira and east of Lenos are where we'll find Yoitsu."

Output:
Hers was the relief of a girl who'd long ago lost her way but had finally found a familiar path.
Slowly and carefully she took a deep breath, which she then exhaled forcefully.
It was only her wisewolf's pride that kept her from bursting into tears right there on the spot.
"I'm surprised you didn't cry."
"...Fool." Her sneer proved how close to tears she had actually come.
"Knowing only that it was to the southwest of Nyohhira would have made the search difficult, but now it will be much narrower. I haven't opened the letter yet, but I'm sure it has additional information. It should be much easier to find our destination now."
Holo nodded and looked aside; then still holding the bedclothes, she looked back to Lawrence searchingly.
Her red-tinged amber eyes sparkled with a mixture of anticipation and doubt.
The white tip of her tail flicked to and fro uncertainly, and she looked so much the frail maiden that Lawrence couldn't help but smile weakly.
If he'd failed to understand what she was saying with that gaze, he would have no cause for complaint when she ripped his throat out.
Lawrence cleared his throat. "I daresay we'll be able to find it within a half year."
He could tell that the blood was once again flowing through her stone-still form.
"Mm!" said Holo happily with a nod.
"So the sender of this note is like a dove bearing good news. Go reflect on your misguided assumptions."
Holo's lips twisted in displeasure, but Lawrence could not fail to notice that it was an affectation.
"In any case, I'm now off to see Mark."
"With a letter tinged with a female's scent tucked near your breast?"
Lawrence couldn't help but laugh at Holo repeating her pointed question.
No doubt she wanted him to leave the letter.
She could not come right out and say as much, though, because it was too embarrassing to admit she was so nervous that she wanted him to leave a letter she could not even read.
Amused at the normally opaque Holo's transparent state of mind, Lawrence handed her the letter.
"You said the sender was a beauty?"
"Oh, indeed, and fairly wrapped in adulthood."
Holo raised a single eyebrow. She took the letter and then looked back to Lawrence, her eyes narrowed. "You're becoming a bit too adult and cunning." She grinned, revealing her fangs.
"Also, apparently Amati's found a way to raise the thousand silver pieces he needs. I'm off to ask about that."
"Oh, aye? Well, do try to come up with some way to prevent me being purchased away, hmm?"
Given their exchange thus far, Lawrence did not take Holo's words too seriously.
"If you want to read the letter, feel free to open it. If you can read, that is."
Holo sniffed and flopped over on the bed, letter in hand, her tail waving as if to say, "Well, run along now." She was like a dog carrying a bone back to its den.
He wouldn't dare to say as much, though, so he smiled wordlessly and, opening the door, left the room.
Just before he closed the door behind him, Lawrence looked back at Holo one last time, whose tail waved as though she had expected him to take one last look.
He chuckled and closed the door slowly so as not to make a sound.
"I must say, for someone asking a favor, you don't seem too worried."
"Apologies."
Lawrence had debated going straight to Mark's home but decided the man was probably still at his marketplace stall, which turned out to be correct.
Among the stands scattered here and there in the marketplace, people toasted each other's health in the moonlight, and even many of the guards responsible for watching over their masters' goods had succumbed to their desires and were drinking.
"Though I suppose I've time to spare aplenty during the festival," Mark admitted.
"Oh?"
"Oh, indeed. No one wants to lug heavy goods about while they take in the sights, do they? Especially something as bulky as wheat, which I sell before the festival begins and buy once it ends. Of course, the night festival is a different matter, though."


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

Input:
Hers was the relief of a girl who'd long ago lost her way but had finally found a familiar path.
Slowly and carefully she took a deep breath, which she then exhaled forcefully.
It was only her wisewolf's pride that kept her from bursting into tears right there on the spot.
"I'm surprised you didn't cry."
"...Fool." Her sneer proved how close to tears she had actually come.
"Knowing only that it was to the southwest of Nyohhira would have made the search difficult, but now it will be much narrower. I haven't opened the letter yet, but I'm sure it has additional information. It should be much easier to find our destination now."
Holo nodded and looked aside; then still holding the bedclothes, she looked back to Lawrence searchingly.
Her red-tinged amber eyes sparkled with a mixture of anticipation and doubt.
The white tip of her tail flicked to and fro uncertainly, and she looked so much the frail maiden that Lawrence couldn't help but smile weakly.
If he'd failed to understand what she was saying with that gaze, he would have no cause for complaint when she ripped his throat out.
Lawrence cleared his throat. "I daresay we'll be able to find it within a half year."
He could tell that the blood was once again flowing through her stone-still form.
"Mm!" said Holo happily with a nod.
"So the sender of this note is like a dove bearing good news. Go reflect on your misguided assumptions."
Holo's lips twisted in displeasure, but Lawrence could not fail to notice that it was an affectation.
"In any case, I'm now off to see Mark."
"With a letter tinged with a female's scent tucked near your breast?"
Lawrence couldn't help but laugh at Holo repeating her pointed question.
No doubt she wanted him to leave the letter.
She could not come right out and say as much, though, because it was too embarrassing to admit she was so nervous that she wanted him to leave a letter she could not even read.
Amused at the normally opaque Holo's transparent state of mind, Lawrence handed her the letter.
"You said the sender was a beauty?"
"Oh, indeed, and fairly wrapped in adulthood."
Holo raised a single eyebrow. She took the letter and then looked back to Lawrence, her eyes narrowed. "You're becoming a bit too adult and cunning." She grinned, revealing her fangs.
"Also, apparently Amati's found a way to raise the thousand silver pieces he needs. I'm off to ask about that."
"Oh, aye? Well, do try to come up with some way to prevent me being purchased away, hmm?"
Given their exchange thus far, Lawrence did not take Holo's words too seriously.
"If you want to read the letter, feel free to open it. If you can read, that is."
Holo sniffed and flopped over on the bed, letter in hand, her tail waving as if to say, "Well, run along now." She was like a dog carrying a bone back to its den.
He wouldn't dare to say as much, though, so he smiled wordlessly and, opening the door, left the room.
Just before he closed the door behind him, Lawrence looked back at Holo one last time, whose tail waved as though she had expected him to take one last look.
He chuckled and closed the door slowly so as not to make a sound.
"I must say, for someone asking a favor, you don't seem too worried."
"Apologies."
Lawrence had debated going straight to Mark's home but decided the man was probably still at his marketplace stall, which turned out to be correct.
Among the stands scattered here and there in the marketplace, people toasted each other's health in the moonlight, and even many of the guards responsible for watching over their masters' goods had succumbed to their desires and were drinking.
"Though I suppose I've time to spare aplenty during the festival," Mark admitted.
"Oh?"
"Oh, indeed. No one wants to lug heavy goods about while they take in the sights, do they? Especially something as bulky as wheat, which I sell before the festival begins and buy once it ends. Of course, the night festival is a different matter, though."

Output:
"And anyway, I've already turned a bit of a profit thanks to your information, so I suppose I'll let you off the hook this time." Mark's smiling face was every inch the pleased merchant.
Evidently he'd taken advantage of whatever it was Amati was up to.
"So you're on board, eh? What's his trick?"
"You're going to like this. I don't mean the trick is just clever—I mean it's like picking up gold off the street."
"I'm all ears," said Lawrence, sitting down in a conveniently close split-log chair.
Mark grinned at what this implied. "I hear tell the knight Haschmidt is quite a dancer. If he keeps making merry like this, he may have to take the thousand silver and lose the lovely maid."
"You're certainly welcome to bet your whole fortune on Amati—it makes not a whit of difference to me."
Mark blocked Lawrence's attack not with his shield, but his sword. "That Philip the Third has been saying some interesting things about you."
"Oh?"
"That you keep the poor girl in debt simply so you can take her wherever you please, that you treat her cruelly and feed her nothing but cold porridge—and so on."
Mark was obviously amused, as though it were a grand joke, but Lawrence could only listen and smile uncomfortably.
Amati was obviously spreading rumors about Lawrence as a way to justify his own actions. Lawrence's cheek twitched, more from the annoyance of this mosquito buzzing around his face than from the damage done to his reputation.
A traveling merchant was no sword-wielding mercenary—he couldn't simply foist debt off on any girl he wished, forcing her to travel with him. Even if a note of debt was written in a city where the merchant had some pull, it would be meaningless as soon as they were on the road.
Likewise, anyone used to long journeys would know there was nothing surprising about the meager food one ate during travel. Any merchant who'd tried to maximize profit knew that there were times one went without food.
So Amati's slander of Lawrence would not be taken seriously. That was not the problem. What irked Lawrence was that Amati spread the notion that he and Lawrence were in the same ring, fighting over a woman.
Even if that didn't have a direct effect on Lawrence's business, it was hardly something to be happy about in regards to his standing as an independent trader.
Mark surely knew how irritating this would be, which explained his self-satisfied smirk. Lawrence sighed and waved his hand as if to end the discussion. "Anyway, what's this talk of profit?"
"Ah, yes. Once I'd heard that old Batos had figured it out, I put the pieces together."
So it was something to do with Batos's business.
"Precious gems, then?"
"Close, but no. You can hardly call it 'precious.'"
The commodities that ore merchants bought and sold as they traveled through mining country ran through his mind. Suddenly, Lawrence had it.
The mineral he'd talked about with Holo that looked like gold—
"Pyrite?"
"Oh, so you've already heard?"
Apparently that was the answer.
"No, I'd just thought it might make a good business myself. Because of the fortune-teller, right?"
"That's what they say. Though that fortune-teller's already left town."
"I see."
A sudden cheer grabbed Lawrence's attention; he looked to see a group of men in traveling clothes joyfully greeting some town merchants, embracing one another heartily at their evidently happy reunion.
"Yeah, the public story is that his fortune-telling was too good, so he was attracting the eye of a Church inquisitor, but that sounds pretty suspicious."
"Why suspicious?"
Mark took a sip of wine and removed a small burlap sack from the shelf behind him.
"First of all, if an inquisitor had actually come to town, it would be huge news. Secondly, there's just a little too much pyrite in circulation right now. My guess is he bought up somewhere else and left as soon as he'd sold all his stock. Also..."


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

Input:
"And anyway, I've already turned a bit of a profit thanks to your information, so I suppose I'll let you off the hook this time." Mark's smiling face was every inch the pleased merchant.
Evidently he'd taken advantage of whatever it was Amati was up to.
"So you're on board, eh? What's his trick?"
"You're going to like this. I don't mean the trick is just clever—I mean it's like picking up gold off the street."
"I'm all ears," said Lawrence, sitting down in a conveniently close split-log chair.
Mark grinned at what this implied. "I hear tell the knight Haschmidt is quite a dancer. If he keeps making merry like this, he may have to take the thousand silver and lose the lovely maid."
"You're certainly welcome to bet your whole fortune on Amati—it makes not a whit of difference to me."
Mark blocked Lawrence's attack not with his shield, but his sword. "That Philip the Third has been saying some interesting things about you."
"Oh?"
"That you keep the poor girl in debt simply so you can take her wherever you please, that you treat her cruelly and feed her nothing but cold porridge—and so on."
Mark was obviously amused, as though it were a grand joke, but Lawrence could only listen and smile uncomfortably.
Amati was obviously spreading rumors about Lawrence as a way to justify his own actions. Lawrence's cheek twitched, more from the annoyance of this mosquito buzzing around his face than from the damage done to his reputation.
A traveling merchant was no sword-wielding mercenary—he couldn't simply foist debt off on any girl he wished, forcing her to travel with him. Even if a note of debt was written in a city where the merchant had some pull, it would be meaningless as soon as they were on the road.
Likewise, anyone used to long journeys would know there was nothing surprising about the meager food one ate during travel. Any merchant who'd tried to maximize profit knew that there were times one went without food.
So Amati's slander of Lawrence would not be taken seriously. That was not the problem. What irked Lawrence was that Amati spread the notion that he and Lawrence were in the same ring, fighting over a woman.
Even if that didn't have a direct effect on Lawrence's business, it was hardly something to be happy about in regards to his standing as an independent trader.
Mark surely knew how irritating this would be, which explained his self-satisfied smirk. Lawrence sighed and waved his hand as if to end the discussion. "Anyway, what's this talk of profit?"
"Ah, yes. Once I'd heard that old Batos had figured it out, I put the pieces together."
So it was something to do with Batos's business.
"Precious gems, then?"
"Close, but no. You can hardly call it 'precious.'"
The commodities that ore merchants bought and sold as they traveled through mining country ran through his mind. Suddenly, Lawrence had it.
The mineral he'd talked about with Holo that looked like gold—
"Pyrite?"
"Oh, so you've already heard?"
Apparently that was the answer.
"No, I'd just thought it might make a good business myself. Because of the fortune-teller, right?"
"That's what they say. Though that fortune-teller's already left town."
"I see."
A sudden cheer grabbed Lawrence's attention; he looked to see a group of men in traveling clothes joyfully greeting some town merchants, embracing one another heartily at their evidently happy reunion.
"Yeah, the public story is that his fortune-telling was too good, so he was attracting the eye of a Church inquisitor, but that sounds pretty suspicious."
"Why suspicious?"
Mark took a sip of wine and removed a small burlap sack from the shelf behind him.
"First of all, if an inquisitor had actually come to town, it would be huge news. Secondly, there's just a little too much pyrite in circulation right now. My guess is he bought up somewhere else and left as soon as he'd sold all his stock. Also..."

Output:
"I think he was trying to exaggerate the rarity of pyrite. How much do you think this is worth right now?"
In his hand, Mark held a die-shaped piece, which was generally considered the most precious form of pyrite. Standard market value was perhaps ten irehd, or one-quarter of a trenni piece.
But Holo had said the pyrite piece Amati gave her had been bought at an auction, so Lawrence made a bolder guess.
"One hundred irehd."
"Try two hundred seventy."
"Im—"
—possible, he was about to say, but he swallowed the word, cursing himself for not buying up stock immediately after Holo told him of the pyrite.
"To men like us, that'd be a ridiculous price even for a precious gem. But when the market opens tomorrow, it's going to rise even higher. Right now every woman in town is scheming to buy. Fortune-telling and secret beauty potions will always be in demand."
"But still—two hundred seventy? For this?"
"It doesn't even have to be die shaped. Other shapes have risen in value, too, thanks to the idea that each one serves a different purpose. The women come to the market and sweet-talk their fat-walleted merchant and farmer husbands into buying them the stuff. And if you want to talk about miracles, they're even starting to compete among each other, these women, to see who's been given the most pyrite. It's gotten to where the price rises with every word of flattery a woman speaks."
Lawrence had bought wine and trinkets for town girls before; this was difficult for him to hear.
But that difficulty paled in comparison to his regret at having let this opportunity get away.
"It's not a question of what percentage of profit can be made on an investment now. It's a question of how many times, how many tens of times you'll multiply your money. Your Philip the Third has his eye on your princess, and he's making tremendous amounts of money to get her."
If Amati had come up with this plan as soon as he'd bought Holo her piece of pyrite, he might very well have made a fair amount of money already. It was entirely possible he would have the thousand pieces of silver on the morrow.
"I've just barely gotten my foot in the door, and I've already made three hundred irehd. That's how much the price is going up. It's not an opportunity to let go."
"Who else knows?"
"Apparently, it was spreading around the market this morning. I was actually late to the game. Incidentally, the line in front of the ore merchant's stall was going mad just about the time you were dancing with your princess."
Despite being long-since sober, Lawrence's face was redder than the still-drinking Mark's.
It was not because Mark teased him about Holo, but rather because just when even the dullest of traders would have known to get in on the action, Lawrence had been right next to the marketplace, dancing the night away.
No amount of red-faced frustration could adequately express his feelings.
He was a failure as a merchant.
For the first time since the Ruvinheigen debacle, he wanted to hold his head in his hands and cry.
"If Amati were doing something complicated, there would probably be something we could do to block him. As it is, I don't think we can. I'm sorry, friend, but you're a fish in a barrel here."
Mark was trying to say, All you can do is wait to be cooked, but that wasn't what depressed Lawrence. He was simply upset with himself for putting fun with Holo before business.
"Ah, I should mention that the news has already spread through the market, so the number of merchants looking to buy up pyrite to sell has driven the price even higher. What I'm saying is that the wind is just now picking up. If you don't hoist your sail, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
"True enough. I'll not sit by and watch those ships sail away."
"That's the spirit! And hey, if worst comes to worst, you'll need money to buy a new princess, eh?"
Lawrence smiled wryly at Mark. It would be a good opportunity to make up for his losses in Ruvinheigen at least.


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

Input:
"I think he was trying to exaggerate the rarity of pyrite. How much do you think this is worth right now?"
In his hand, Mark held a die-shaped piece, which was generally considered the most precious form of pyrite. Standard market value was perhaps ten irehd, or one-quarter of a trenni piece.
But Holo had said the pyrite piece Amati gave her had been bought at an auction, so Lawrence made a bolder guess.
"One hundred irehd."
"Try two hundred seventy."
"Im—"
—possible, he was about to say, but he swallowed the word, cursing himself for not buying up stock immediately after Holo told him of the pyrite.
"To men like us, that'd be a ridiculous price even for a precious gem. But when the market opens tomorrow, it's going to rise even higher. Right now every woman in town is scheming to buy. Fortune-telling and secret beauty potions will always be in demand."
"But still—two hundred seventy? For this?"
"It doesn't even have to be die shaped. Other shapes have risen in value, too, thanks to the idea that each one serves a different purpose. The women come to the market and sweet-talk their fat-walleted merchant and farmer husbands into buying them the stuff. And if you want to talk about miracles, they're even starting to compete among each other, these women, to see who's been given the most pyrite. It's gotten to where the price rises with every word of flattery a woman speaks."
Lawrence had bought wine and trinkets for town girls before; this was difficult for him to hear.
But that difficulty paled in comparison to his regret at having let this opportunity get away.
"It's not a question of what percentage of profit can be made on an investment now. It's a question of how many times, how many tens of times you'll multiply your money. Your Philip the Third has his eye on your princess, and he's making tremendous amounts of money to get her."
If Amati had come up with this plan as soon as he'd bought Holo her piece of pyrite, he might very well have made a fair amount of money already. It was entirely possible he would have the thousand pieces of silver on the morrow.
"I've just barely gotten my foot in the door, and I've already made three hundred irehd. That's how much the price is going up. It's not an opportunity to let go."
"Who else knows?"
"Apparently, it was spreading around the market this morning. I was actually late to the game. Incidentally, the line in front of the ore merchant's stall was going mad just about the time you were dancing with your princess."
Despite being long-since sober, Lawrence's face was redder than the still-drinking Mark's.
It was not because Mark teased him about Holo, but rather because just when even the dullest of traders would have known to get in on the action, Lawrence had been right next to the marketplace, dancing the night away.
No amount of red-faced frustration could adequately express his feelings.
He was a failure as a merchant.
For the first time since the Ruvinheigen debacle, he wanted to hold his head in his hands and cry.
"If Amati were doing something complicated, there would probably be something we could do to block him. As it is, I don't think we can. I'm sorry, friend, but you're a fish in a barrel here."
Mark was trying to say, All you can do is wait to be cooked, but that wasn't what depressed Lawrence. He was simply upset with himself for putting fun with Holo before business.
"Ah, I should mention that the news has already spread through the market, so the number of merchants looking to buy up pyrite to sell has driven the price even higher. What I'm saying is that the wind is just now picking up. If you don't hoist your sail, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
"True enough. I'll not sit by and watch those ships sail away."
"That's the spirit! And hey, if worst comes to worst, you'll need money to buy a new princess, eh?"
Lawrence smiled wryly at Mark. It would be a good opportunity to make up for his losses in Ruvinheigen at least.

Output:
Mark immediately scowled as if he suddenly regretted mentioning anything.
Lawrence paid Mark thirty trenni for four pieces of pyrite and then made his way back to the inn through the crowds that sang and danced by the light of the bonfires.
The festival seemed to have entered its second stage, and he heard the sound of drums powerfully beaten.
The crowds were dense enough that it was difficult to see, but in contrast to the festivities of the day, the revelry seemed to have become wilder. Straw puppets collided with one another and sword dancers whirled.
It was a surprising development since people had already been dancing and drinking all day long.
But if he wanted to view the festival, it would be easy to do so from the front-row seat that was the inn room.
He hurried through the throng and made for the inn.
Lawrence had some thinking to do.
Amati's chances of actually pulling together a thousand trenni had increased, but Lawrence still didn't feel perturbed or worried about losing Holo.
What he worried about was how much he could make with the pyrite he had on hand and how cheaply he could convince Holo to sell him the piece she'd gotten from Amati.
Sometimes worthless items turned into gold.
Festivals were special times indeed.
Along the quieter alleys slightly removed from the clamor and lights of the festival, knights and mercenaries made passes at girls or draped their arms around the already-convinced.
The girls who leaned so easily into the arms of dark-eyed, dangerous, bandit-like knights did not seem to be women of the night, but rather ordinary town girls, who on any other night would only speak to men of more serious disposition and stature.
The strange aphrodisiac that was the passionate festival atmosphere clouded their eyes—and so long as it also did things like drive the price of pyrite upward, Lawrence had no complaints.
As he was mulling this over, Lawrence caught sight of a shop selling sweet melons to soothe throats burning from too much wine and bought two for Holo.
There was no telling how angry she might be should he return empty-handed. The melons were like the eggs of some huge bird; he smiled, resigned, carrying one under his arm and one in his hand.
The inn's first-floor dining hall was just as lively as the streets, but Lawrence only glanced at it as he made his way up to the second story.
Upon reaching the second floor, Lawrence noticed that the noise from below seemed strangely unreal, as though he were watching a fire burn from the opposite shore.
The sound of the chatter brought to mind a babbling brook; he listened to it as he opened the door and entered the room.
For a moment, he wondered why it was so well lit, but then he saw that the window had been left open.
It had probably been too dark to read the letter otherwise.
Suddenly, Lawrence realized something was wrong with that notion.
The letter?
He met Holo's eyes as she stood before the window with the letter in her hand.
Those frightened eyes.
No—not frightened.
The eyes of someone who had just come back to their senses after being utterly stunned.
"You..."
...can read? Lawrence was going to ask, but the words stuck in his throat.
Holo's lips quivered, followed shortly by her shoulders. He saw her try to gather strength in her numb, slim fingers, but the letter slipped from them and fluttered to the floor.
Lawrence did not move. He was afraid she would shatter like an ice sculpture if he moved.
It was the letter from Diana that she'd held.
If reading that letter brought Holo to this state, there were not many possibilities Lawrence could imagine.
It had to be about Yoitsu.
"Whatever is the matter?" she asked.
Her voice sounded as it always did. Despite being visibly on the brink of collapse, she managed a thin smile; the contrast was unreal, dreamlike.
"Is there something s-stuck to my face?" Holo tried maintaining her smile, but her lips trembled and it was clearly difficult for her to speak.


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

Input:
Mark immediately scowled as if he suddenly regretted mentioning anything.
Lawrence paid Mark thirty trenni for four pieces of pyrite and then made his way back to the inn through the crowds that sang and danced by the light of the bonfires.
The festival seemed to have entered its second stage, and he heard the sound of drums powerfully beaten.
The crowds were dense enough that it was difficult to see, but in contrast to the festivities of the day, the revelry seemed to have become wilder. Straw puppets collided with one another and sword dancers whirled.
It was a surprising development since people had already been dancing and drinking all day long.
But if he wanted to view the festival, it would be easy to do so from the front-row seat that was the inn room.
He hurried through the throng and made for the inn.
Lawrence had some thinking to do.
Amati's chances of actually pulling together a thousand trenni had increased, but Lawrence still didn't feel perturbed or worried about losing Holo.
What he worried about was how much he could make with the pyrite he had on hand and how cheaply he could convince Holo to sell him the piece she'd gotten from Amati.
Sometimes worthless items turned into gold.
Festivals were special times indeed.
Along the quieter alleys slightly removed from the clamor and lights of the festival, knights and mercenaries made passes at girls or draped their arms around the already-convinced.
The girls who leaned so easily into the arms of dark-eyed, dangerous, bandit-like knights did not seem to be women of the night, but rather ordinary town girls, who on any other night would only speak to men of more serious disposition and stature.
The strange aphrodisiac that was the passionate festival atmosphere clouded their eyes—and so long as it also did things like drive the price of pyrite upward, Lawrence had no complaints.
As he was mulling this over, Lawrence caught sight of a shop selling sweet melons to soothe throats burning from too much wine and bought two for Holo.
There was no telling how angry she might be should he return empty-handed. The melons were like the eggs of some huge bird; he smiled, resigned, carrying one under his arm and one in his hand.
The inn's first-floor dining hall was just as lively as the streets, but Lawrence only glanced at it as he made his way up to the second story.
Upon reaching the second floor, Lawrence noticed that the noise from below seemed strangely unreal, as though he were watching a fire burn from the opposite shore.
The sound of the chatter brought to mind a babbling brook; he listened to it as he opened the door and entered the room.
For a moment, he wondered why it was so well lit, but then he saw that the window had been left open.
It had probably been too dark to read the letter otherwise.
Suddenly, Lawrence realized something was wrong with that notion.
The letter?
He met Holo's eyes as she stood before the window with the letter in her hand.
Those frightened eyes.
No—not frightened.
The eyes of someone who had just come back to their senses after being utterly stunned.
"You..."
...can read? Lawrence was going to ask, but the words stuck in his throat.
Holo's lips quivered, followed shortly by her shoulders. He saw her try to gather strength in her numb, slim fingers, but the letter slipped from them and fluttered to the floor.
Lawrence did not move. He was afraid she would shatter like an ice sculpture if he moved.
It was the letter from Diana that she'd held.
If reading that letter brought Holo to this state, there were not many possibilities Lawrence could imagine.
It had to be about Yoitsu.
"Whatever is the matter?" she asked.
Her voice sounded as it always did. Despite being visibly on the brink of collapse, she managed a thin smile; the contrast was unreal, dreamlike.
"Is there something s-stuck to my face?" Holo tried maintaining her smile, but her lips trembled and it was clearly difficult for her to speak.

Output:
"There's nothing on your face. You might be a bit drunk, though."
He couldn't bear standing silently before her like that, so he tried to choose the least offensive words he could.
What to say next? No, he had to figure out first how much she knew. Lawrence had gotten that far when Holo spoke again.
"Y-yes, quite. I-I must be drunk. Drunk i-indeed."
Her teeth chattered as she smiled, and she stiffly walked over to the bed and sat.
Lawrence finally moved away from the door and very slowly, so as not to cause this frightened bird to fly, made his way to the desk.
He set the two melons down on the desk and casually glanced down at the letter Holo had dropped.
Diana's lovely handwriting was clearly illuminated by the moonlight.
Regarding the matter we discussed yesterday of the town of Yoitsu, destroyed long ago...
Lawrence's eyes flicked over the words. He couldn't help closing his eyes.
Holo had claimed to be unable to read—probably she had planned to surprise or to tease him sometime in the future. No doubt she was surprised that the chance to do so had come so quickly, and she had read the letter immediately.
But it had backfired.
The letter had been about her home of Yoitsu—of course, she would want to read it.
The image of an excited Holo tearing into the envelope suddenly flickered into Lawrence's mind.
And then she saw the words about Yoitsu's destruction. He couldn't even imagine how bad the shock must have been.
Holo sat on the bed, staring at the floor.
While Lawrence struggled to think of the right words, she looked up.
"What—what shall I do?" Her lips curled into a forced smile. "I've...I've nowhere to return to..."
She neither blinked nor cried, but a steady stream of tears rolled down her cheeks.
"What shall I do...," she murmured again, like a child who had broken her favorite toy. Lawrence couldn't bear to see her this way. Everyone was a child when they remembered their homelands.
Holo was a wisewolf of many centuries' experience; she had certainly considered the possibility that Yoitsu had been buried within the flow of time.
But just as logic has no hold over a child, it was of no use in the face of such strong emotions.
"Holo."
Holo flinched momentarily at the sound of her name before regaining some composure.
"It's just an old story, a legend. There are many legends that are mistaken."
Lawrence spoke almost admonishingly, in order to give his words as much weight as he could. As far as possibilities went, the chances of Yoitsu being intact were very low. The towns that survived unharmed for hundreds of years were typically large ones; that everyone knew.
But he could think of nothing else to say.
"Mis...mistaken?"
"That's right. In places where a new king or faction takes over, they'll spread all kinds of tales like this to stake a claim to the new territory."
It wasn't a lie. He had heard many such examples of this.
But Holo shook her head suddenly, her tears streaming left and right across her cheeks.
The stillness in her eyes was the calm before the storm.
"No, if that were true, why—why would you hide it from me?"
"I was looking for the right time to speak. It's a delicate issue. So—"
"Heh," Holo laughed, though it sounded like a cough.
It was as though a demon had possessed her somehow.
"I-It must have been terribly amusing, seeing me be so carefree."
Lawrence's mind went instantly blank. He could never feel anything of the sort. Anger surged up within him, seizing his throat, but he restrained it somehow.
He realized Holo just wanted to hurt something, anything.
"Holo, please, calm down."
"I'm qu-quite calm. Am I not the very picture of lucidity? You must have known about Yoitsu all along."
Lawrence was speechless; she had discerned the truth.
He realized that his ultimate mistake lay in hiding it from her.
"You did, did you not? Did you not? You knew as soon as you met me. That explains so much."
Holo's expression was now that of a cornered wolf.


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

Input:
"There's nothing on your face. You might be a bit drunk, though."
He couldn't bear standing silently before her like that, so he tried to choose the least offensive words he could.
What to say next? No, he had to figure out first how much she knew. Lawrence had gotten that far when Holo spoke again.
"Y-yes, quite. I-I must be drunk. Drunk i-indeed."
Her teeth chattered as she smiled, and she stiffly walked over to the bed and sat.
Lawrence finally moved away from the door and very slowly, so as not to cause this frightened bird to fly, made his way to the desk.
He set the two melons down on the desk and casually glanced down at the letter Holo had dropped.
Diana's lovely handwriting was clearly illuminated by the moonlight.
Regarding the matter we discussed yesterday of the town of Yoitsu, destroyed long ago...
Lawrence's eyes flicked over the words. He couldn't help closing his eyes.
Holo had claimed to be unable to read—probably she had planned to surprise or to tease him sometime in the future. No doubt she was surprised that the chance to do so had come so quickly, and she had read the letter immediately.
But it had backfired.
The letter had been about her home of Yoitsu—of course, she would want to read it.
The image of an excited Holo tearing into the envelope suddenly flickered into Lawrence's mind.
And then she saw the words about Yoitsu's destruction. He couldn't even imagine how bad the shock must have been.
Holo sat on the bed, staring at the floor.
While Lawrence struggled to think of the right words, she looked up.
"What—what shall I do?" Her lips curled into a forced smile. "I've...I've nowhere to return to..."
She neither blinked nor cried, but a steady stream of tears rolled down her cheeks.
"What shall I do...," she murmured again, like a child who had broken her favorite toy. Lawrence couldn't bear to see her this way. Everyone was a child when they remembered their homelands.
Holo was a wisewolf of many centuries' experience; she had certainly considered the possibility that Yoitsu had been buried within the flow of time.
But just as logic has no hold over a child, it was of no use in the face of such strong emotions.
"Holo."
Holo flinched momentarily at the sound of her name before regaining some composure.
"It's just an old story, a legend. There are many legends that are mistaken."
Lawrence spoke almost admonishingly, in order to give his words as much weight as he could. As far as possibilities went, the chances of Yoitsu being intact were very low. The towns that survived unharmed for hundreds of years were typically large ones; that everyone knew.
But he could think of nothing else to say.
"Mis...mistaken?"
"That's right. In places where a new king or faction takes over, they'll spread all kinds of tales like this to stake a claim to the new territory."
It wasn't a lie. He had heard many such examples of this.
But Holo shook her head suddenly, her tears streaming left and right across her cheeks.
The stillness in her eyes was the calm before the storm.
"No, if that were true, why—why would you hide it from me?"
"I was looking for the right time to speak. It's a delicate issue. So—"
"Heh," Holo laughed, though it sounded like a cough.
It was as though a demon had possessed her somehow.
"I-It must have been terribly amusing, seeing me be so carefree."
Lawrence's mind went instantly blank. He could never feel anything of the sort. Anger surged up within him, seizing his throat, but he restrained it somehow.
He realized Holo just wanted to hurt something, anything.
"Holo, please, calm down."
"I'm qu-quite calm. Am I not the very picture of lucidity? You must have known about Yoitsu all along."
Lawrence was speechless; she had discerned the truth.
He realized that his ultimate mistake lay in hiding it from her.
"You did, did you not? Did you not? You knew as soon as you met me. That explains so much."
Holo's expression was now that of a cornered wolf.

Output:
Lawrence tried to speak, but Holo continued.
"And then you told me to go back to Nyohhira alone because you'd grown tired of me, no?"
Her smile was a despairing one. Even Holo herself should know that what she said was a deliberate, malicious distortion.
He knew that if he was to lose his temper and strike her, she would only wag her tail happily.
"Is that really what you think?"
Lawrence's words struck her; she stared through him with blazing red eyes. "Yes, it is!"
Holo stood up, her fists trembling and white.
Her sharp teeth clattered, and her tail puffed out like a bottlebrush.
Lawrence still did not flinch. He knew that Holo's rage came from a place of deep sadness.
"Yes, I do think that! You are human! The only animal that raises other animals! It must have been so amusing for you as I foolishly took the bait that was Yoitsu and—"
"Holo."
Holo had been gesticulating wildly; Lawrence quickly drew close to her and grabbed her arms with all his might.
She was as angry and frightened as a trapped stray dog, and she could put up no more resistance than that of the young girl she appeared to be.
With Lawrence holding on to her arms, the difference in their strength was clear.
"I-I'm all alone. Wh-what shall I-I do? No one awaits my return. There is no one for me. I'm...I'm alone..."
"You have me, don't you?" he said, completely serious.
They were not words that could be said lightly.
But Holo merely scoffed and shot back, "What are you to me? Nay—what am I to you?"
Lawrence had no quick reply. He had to think.
It was a moment later that he realized he should have answered quickly, even if it had to be a lie.
"No! I do not want to be alone anymore! I can't!" shouted Holo, then froze. "Come now...Would...would you lie with me?"
Lawrence was just about to loosen his grip on her arms.
But then he noticed that her smile was empty. She was mocking her own unhinged state.
"I am all alone, I am. But with a child, that would make two. Look, I have taken human form. It is not impossible that with you, I could...Come, please..."
"Don't talk. I'm begging you."
Lawrence understood the overflowing emotions that boiled up within her, which could only come out as sharp, poisonous words. He understood too well.
But he could not manage the trick of tying those emotions up and setting them aside to cool.
Telling her not to speak was all he could do.
Holo's smile strengthened, and a new wave of tears poured from her eyes.
"Heh. Aha...ha-ha-ha-ha. 'Tis true. You're too softhearted. I can expect nothing like that from you. But I care not. I've remembered, you see. There's...Yes, there's someone who loves me."
She couldn't overcome Lawrence's grip with force, so in order to take advantage of any gap that might appear, Holo relaxed her fists and let the tension drain from her body. Lawrence let go of her wrists, and words now came from her like so many sickly butterflies.
"That is why such talk did not cause you worry, is it not? That if you could receive a thousand silver coins for me, it would not be so regrettable to let me go?"
Lawrence knew that anything he said would be meaningless, so he only listened silently.
The silence continued, as if Holo had burned up the last of her fuel.
At length, just when Lawrence reached out to her again, Holo spoke weakly.
"...I am sorry," she said.
Lawrence felt he could hear the slam that came with those words as Holo closed the door to her heart.
He froze. It was all he could do to back away.
Holo sat down again, staring at the floor, unmoving.
Lawrence retreated, but he found himself unable to stand still, so he picked up the letter from Diana that Holo had dropped, reading it as if to escape.
In it, Diana said that there was a monk who lived in a town on the way to Lenos, specializing in the legends of the northlands, and that Lawrence would do well to visit him. On the back of the letter was written the name of the monk.
Lawrence closed his eyes, anguished.


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

Input:
Lawrence tried to speak, but Holo continued.
"And then you told me to go back to Nyohhira alone because you'd grown tired of me, no?"
Her smile was a despairing one. Even Holo herself should know that what she said was a deliberate, malicious distortion.
He knew that if he was to lose his temper and strike her, she would only wag her tail happily.
"Is that really what you think?"
Lawrence's words struck her; she stared through him with blazing red eyes. "Yes, it is!"
Holo stood up, her fists trembling and white.
Her sharp teeth clattered, and her tail puffed out like a bottlebrush.
Lawrence still did not flinch. He knew that Holo's rage came from a place of deep sadness.
"Yes, I do think that! You are human! The only animal that raises other animals! It must have been so amusing for you as I foolishly took the bait that was Yoitsu and—"
"Holo."
Holo had been gesticulating wildly; Lawrence quickly drew close to her and grabbed her arms with all his might.
She was as angry and frightened as a trapped stray dog, and she could put up no more resistance than that of the young girl she appeared to be.
With Lawrence holding on to her arms, the difference in their strength was clear.
"I-I'm all alone. Wh-what shall I-I do? No one awaits my return. There is no one for me. I'm...I'm alone..."
"You have me, don't you?" he said, completely serious.
They were not words that could be said lightly.
But Holo merely scoffed and shot back, "What are you to me? Nay—what am I to you?"
Lawrence had no quick reply. He had to think.
It was a moment later that he realized he should have answered quickly, even if it had to be a lie.
"No! I do not want to be alone anymore! I can't!" shouted Holo, then froze. "Come now...Would...would you lie with me?"
Lawrence was just about to loosen his grip on her arms.
But then he noticed that her smile was empty. She was mocking her own unhinged state.
"I am all alone, I am. But with a child, that would make two. Look, I have taken human form. It is not impossible that with you, I could...Come, please..."
"Don't talk. I'm begging you."
Lawrence understood the overflowing emotions that boiled up within her, which could only come out as sharp, poisonous words. He understood too well.
But he could not manage the trick of tying those emotions up and setting them aside to cool.
Telling her not to speak was all he could do.
Holo's smile strengthened, and a new wave of tears poured from her eyes.
"Heh. Aha...ha-ha-ha-ha. 'Tis true. You're too softhearted. I can expect nothing like that from you. But I care not. I've remembered, you see. There's...Yes, there's someone who loves me."
She couldn't overcome Lawrence's grip with force, so in order to take advantage of any gap that might appear, Holo relaxed her fists and let the tension drain from her body. Lawrence let go of her wrists, and words now came from her like so many sickly butterflies.
"That is why such talk did not cause you worry, is it not? That if you could receive a thousand silver coins for me, it would not be so regrettable to let me go?"
Lawrence knew that anything he said would be meaningless, so he only listened silently.
The silence continued, as if Holo had burned up the last of her fuel.
At length, just when Lawrence reached out to her again, Holo spoke weakly.
"...I am sorry," she said.
Lawrence felt he could hear the slam that came with those words as Holo closed the door to her heart.
He froze. It was all he could do to back away.
Holo sat down again, staring at the floor, unmoving.
Lawrence retreated, but he found himself unable to stand still, so he picked up the letter from Diana that Holo had dropped, reading it as if to escape.
In it, Diana said that there was a monk who lived in a town on the way to Lenos, specializing in the legends of the northlands, and that Lawrence would do well to visit him. On the back of the letter was written the name of the monk.
Lawrence closed his eyes, anguished.

Output:
He was filled with a sudden urge to tear it into pieces, but he knew such an outburst was pointless.
The letter was still an important clue to finding Yoitsu.
It felt like one of the few thin threads still connecting Holo to him; he folded the letter and slipped it beneath his coat.
He looked back at Holo, who still stared at the floor.
In his mind, he heard again the word she had spoken—"sorry"—when he reached out to her.
All he could do now was silently leave the room.
He took one step back. Two steps.
A loud cheer came through the window. Lawrence took this opportunity and left the room.
For just an instant, he thought that Holo had lifted her face to look at him, but he knew it was just hope's illusion.
He reached behind himself to close the door, averting his eyes as if to make it clear he wished to see nothing.
But that would not undo all of this.
He would have to do something.
He would have to do something—but what and how?
Lawrence left the inn.
The streets were again overflowing with strangers.
***
Lawrence headed out into the town only to find there was no place for him there.
The festival that had started when the sun set was the precise opposite of its daytime counterpart, and it lacked the latter's sense of fun entirely.
Every straw or wooden puppet was now armed with a weapon, to say nothing of every costumed reveler. The larger puppets that had no weapons were themselves used as weapons as the fighting spread.
The straw puppets collided amid angry cries, the crowds yelling each time debris went flying. Around them instruments blared their raucous tunes so as not to be drowned out by the clamor of fighting. The black-robed figures sang an ominous war hymn.
Lawrence avoided the crowds and headed north. The awful din churned over and over in his head unbearably.
No matter how long he walked down the long avenue, the festival noise seemed endless. It ate into his nerves like some witch's spell, causing his exchange with Holo to echo through his mind. He could see her before him. He wanted to cry out at his own worthlessness but managed to restrain himself.
If he had enough energy to scream, Lawrence reasoned, he should put that toward improving the situation.
Yet evaluating the situation rationally, he could find no such possibilities.
Given the state Holo was in, Lawrence saw it was entirely possible that she would accept Amati's proposal.
Amati was probably the first merchant to have taken advantage of the pyrite boom, so it was best to assume that he had already made a fair amount of money.
In the worst case, Amati might not even have to wait until sunset to bring the money and declare the contract fulfilled.
Lawrence knew he was not just being pessimistic.
***
The anxiety seized his gut, and a whimper escaped his lips.
He looked up into the dark sky and covered his eyes.
If he couldn't stop Amati's profit machine, he could at least go back to the inn and try to make up with Holo.
But Lawrence could see plain as day that reconciling with Holo would be even more difficult than stopping Amati.
What am I to you? Holo's question had thrown him into contemplation.
Even now, having had a bit of time to consider the question, he could not answer it.
He wanted her to keep traveling with him—that much he knew—and he couldn't bear even thinking about her going to be Amati's bride.
Yet after ruminating on the memory of the scene, his face only contorted at the terrible acidity of it.
He knew that Holo was precious to him, but precious in what way? If asked, it was not something he could articulate clearly.
His jaw was clenched, and Lawrence rubbed his face to try and relax it.
How could this have happened?
The fun they'd had at the festival now seemed like a fleeting dream. Even an omniscient god could never have anticipated that in a few short hours, things would turn out this way.


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

Input:
He was filled with a sudden urge to tear it into pieces, but he knew such an outburst was pointless.
The letter was still an important clue to finding Yoitsu.
It felt like one of the few thin threads still connecting Holo to him; he folded the letter and slipped it beneath his coat.
He looked back at Holo, who still stared at the floor.
In his mind, he heard again the word she had spoken—"sorry"—when he reached out to her.
All he could do now was silently leave the room.
He took one step back. Two steps.
A loud cheer came through the window. Lawrence took this opportunity and left the room.
For just an instant, he thought that Holo had lifted her face to look at him, but he knew it was just hope's illusion.
He reached behind himself to close the door, averting his eyes as if to make it clear he wished to see nothing.
But that would not undo all of this.
He would have to do something.
He would have to do something—but what and how?
Lawrence left the inn.
The streets were again overflowing with strangers.
***
Lawrence headed out into the town only to find there was no place for him there.
The festival that had started when the sun set was the precise opposite of its daytime counterpart, and it lacked the latter's sense of fun entirely.
Every straw or wooden puppet was now armed with a weapon, to say nothing of every costumed reveler. The larger puppets that had no weapons were themselves used as weapons as the fighting spread.
The straw puppets collided amid angry cries, the crowds yelling each time debris went flying. Around them instruments blared their raucous tunes so as not to be drowned out by the clamor of fighting. The black-robed figures sang an ominous war hymn.
Lawrence avoided the crowds and headed north. The awful din churned over and over in his head unbearably.
No matter how long he walked down the long avenue, the festival noise seemed endless. It ate into his nerves like some witch's spell, causing his exchange with Holo to echo through his mind. He could see her before him. He wanted to cry out at his own worthlessness but managed to restrain himself.
If he had enough energy to scream, Lawrence reasoned, he should put that toward improving the situation.
Yet evaluating the situation rationally, he could find no such possibilities.
Given the state Holo was in, Lawrence saw it was entirely possible that she would accept Amati's proposal.
Amati was probably the first merchant to have taken advantage of the pyrite boom, so it was best to assume that he had already made a fair amount of money.
In the worst case, Amati might not even have to wait until sunset to bring the money and declare the contract fulfilled.
Lawrence knew he was not just being pessimistic.
***
The anxiety seized his gut, and a whimper escaped his lips.
He looked up into the dark sky and covered his eyes.
If he couldn't stop Amati's profit machine, he could at least go back to the inn and try to make up with Holo.
But Lawrence could see plain as day that reconciling with Holo would be even more difficult than stopping Amati.
What am I to you? Holo's question had thrown him into contemplation.
Even now, having had a bit of time to consider the question, he could not answer it.
He wanted her to keep traveling with him—that much he knew—and he couldn't bear even thinking about her going to be Amati's bride.
Yet after ruminating on the memory of the scene, his face only contorted at the terrible acidity of it.
He knew that Holo was precious to him, but precious in what way? If asked, it was not something he could articulate clearly.
His jaw was clenched, and Lawrence rubbed his face to try and relax it.
How could this have happened?
The fun they'd had at the festival now seemed like a fleeting dream. Even an omniscient god could never have anticipated that in a few short hours, things would turn out this way.

Output:
He regretted leaving the letter on the desk. It felt to him like none of this would have happened if he had only taken it with him. If he had only found the right time to talk to her, surely the clever Holo would not have become distraught.
Beyond that, Holo's words had laid bare his own selfishness and lack of resolve. He couldn't imagine being able to speak to her properly now.
Eventually Lawrence realized he'd made it all the way to Kumersun's lonely northern district without having come up with any good ideas.
He'd been walking slowly, and it had taken some time, but he hadn't even noticed.
Despite the sense that the town was crowded everywhere one might go, here in the northern section there were few pedestrians. The festivities did not extend this far.
There in the silence, he was finally able to calm down and take some deep breaths.
He turned on his heel and began to walk back, rethinking the situation.
First—
Sincerity alone would not be enough to convince Holo to hear him out. He didn't even have enough confidence to look her in the eye anyway.
So setting aside whether or not he would be able to salvage his relationship with her, he could at least avoid giving her a good reason to leave him and be with Amati.
As long as Amati was unable to raise a thousand silver pieces, Holo's debt to Lawrence would still stand. There was no telling if that would be enough to get her to stay with him, but he could at least try to make that assertion.
So the problem lay in preventing Amati from fulfilling the contract.
It was due to the strange mood of the festival that the price of pyrite had risen so high, and to hear Mark tell it, the price was going to rise still higher. Lawrence did not know how much pyrite Amati had on hand or how much profit he had turned. Since the pyrite was selling for many times—even many tens of times—its cost price, depending on how much money Amati had been able to invest, he might already have raised the thousand silver.
However, there was a factor that worked in Lawrence's favor—pyrite did tend to exist in large quantities.
Even if it could be sold for ten times the purchase price, one had to have the pyrite in quantity before making truly large amounts of money.
Of course, Amati wasn't necessarily relying solely on pyrite to raise the money, but the thought that he might have trouble obtaining sufficient quantity to do so was some consolation to Lawrence.
Lawrence had to prevent Amati from making this kind of deal. More accurately, he had to force him to take a loss, because if Amati was pressed and didn't care about the future of his business, he might liquidate all of his assets just to raise the money.
But if Lawrence found it difficult to stop him from turning a huge profit, forcing him to suffer a loss was nearly impossible.
A frontal assault was out of the question. The rising demand for pyrite meant there was no need to push any deals through by force; the profit would naturally come.
If there was no urgency, there was no way to swindle.
So what to do...?
He turned the problem over and over in his mind, always running into the same walls. Eventually without thinking, Lawrence said, "Say, Ho—"
He managed not to say "lo," but a passing craftsman did look at him strangely.
Again, he realized how largely Holo's small figure and invincible smile loomed in his mind.
It seemed impossible that he'd gotten along on his own for so long before her.
Holo would certainly be able to come up with some good ideas or at least set him on the right path.
Somewhere along the line, Lawrence realized, he'd become quite dependent on her.
What am I to you?
He simply could not answer the question with any kind of confidence.
"If I were Holo, what would I do?"
Lawrence didn't imagine that he could imitate the endlessly mysterious Holo's thought process perfectly.
But he was a merchant.
When a merchant came upon a new idea, it was his job to make that idea his own and get ahead of his competitors.


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

Input:
He regretted leaving the letter on the desk. It felt to him like none of this would have happened if he had only taken it with him. If he had only found the right time to talk to her, surely the clever Holo would not have become distraught.
Beyond that, Holo's words had laid bare his own selfishness and lack of resolve. He couldn't imagine being able to speak to her properly now.
Eventually Lawrence realized he'd made it all the way to Kumersun's lonely northern district without having come up with any good ideas.
He'd been walking slowly, and it had taken some time, but he hadn't even noticed.
Despite the sense that the town was crowded everywhere one might go, here in the northern section there were few pedestrians. The festivities did not extend this far.
There in the silence, he was finally able to calm down and take some deep breaths.
He turned on his heel and began to walk back, rethinking the situation.
First—
Sincerity alone would not be enough to convince Holo to hear him out. He didn't even have enough confidence to look her in the eye anyway.
So setting aside whether or not he would be able to salvage his relationship with her, he could at least avoid giving her a good reason to leave him and be with Amati.
As long as Amati was unable to raise a thousand silver pieces, Holo's debt to Lawrence would still stand. There was no telling if that would be enough to get her to stay with him, but he could at least try to make that assertion.
So the problem lay in preventing Amati from fulfilling the contract.
It was due to the strange mood of the festival that the price of pyrite had risen so high, and to hear Mark tell it, the price was going to rise still higher. Lawrence did not know how much pyrite Amati had on hand or how much profit he had turned. Since the pyrite was selling for many times—even many tens of times—its cost price, depending on how much money Amati had been able to invest, he might already have raised the thousand silver.
However, there was a factor that worked in Lawrence's favor—pyrite did tend to exist in large quantities.
Even if it could be sold for ten times the purchase price, one had to have the pyrite in quantity before making truly large amounts of money.
Of course, Amati wasn't necessarily relying solely on pyrite to raise the money, but the thought that he might have trouble obtaining sufficient quantity to do so was some consolation to Lawrence.
Lawrence had to prevent Amati from making this kind of deal. More accurately, he had to force him to take a loss, because if Amati was pressed and didn't care about the future of his business, he might liquidate all of his assets just to raise the money.
But if Lawrence found it difficult to stop him from turning a huge profit, forcing him to suffer a loss was nearly impossible.
A frontal assault was out of the question. The rising demand for pyrite meant there was no need to push any deals through by force; the profit would naturally come.
If there was no urgency, there was no way to swindle.
So what to do...?
He turned the problem over and over in his mind, always running into the same walls. Eventually without thinking, Lawrence said, "Say, Ho—"
He managed not to say "lo," but a passing craftsman did look at him strangely.
Again, he realized how largely Holo's small figure and invincible smile loomed in his mind.
It seemed impossible that he'd gotten along on his own for so long before her.
Holo would certainly be able to come up with some good ideas or at least set him on the right path.
Somewhere along the line, Lawrence realized, he'd become quite dependent on her.
What am I to you?
He simply could not answer the question with any kind of confidence.
"If I were Holo, what would I do?"
Lawrence didn't imagine that he could imitate the endlessly mysterious Holo's thought process perfectly.
But he was a merchant.
When a merchant came upon a new idea, it was his job to make that idea his own and get ahead of his competitors.

Output:
Given the situation before him, Lawrence knew she would look at the whole problem from every possible angle.
It seemed easy but wasn't. Sometimes the most brilliant idea would seem obvious in retrospect.
Amati was making a profit on the rising demand for pyrite. Lawrence needed to make him suffer a loss.
What was the simplest, most obvious way for that to happen?
Lawrence mused.
Unconstrained by the bonds of common sense, he thought.
One answer occurred to him.
"The demand for pyrite needs to fall."
Lawrence said it out loud, then laughed foolishly.
So this is what happened when he tried to imitate Holo?
If the value of pyrite was to drop, that truly would be cause for celebration.
But demand was climbing and showed no signs of stopping. The price was already past increases of tenfold, twentyfold. It would climb and then—
"...And then?"
Lawrence stopped dead in his tracks as the realization hit him.
"Ten times? Twenty times? And then what...thirty? And after that?"
He felt as if he could see Holo snickering at him.
The price would not rise forever. The craze would end as it always did.
Lawrence almost felt like he might sob again. He clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle it.
There were two questions he had to answer:
The first was when the crash would come, and the second was would it be possible to make Amati fall with it?
Lawrence started walking again, his hand still over his mouth.
Even if the price of pyrite were to crash, would Amati really be pulled down with it? Lawrence doubted it. It would be underestimating the boy to assume so.
So the problem would be contriving to make that situation happen. If he could articulate the problem concretely, Lawrence didn't think his mind was so very far behind Holo's.
The ideal situation appeared in his mind, settling heavy and cold into his stomach. He'd experienced this sensation before. It wasn't logic, but the intuition that an important contest was upon him.
He took a deep breath and thought about a critical point: When would the crash occur?
It was obvious that the price could not continue to rise forever, but when would it crash—and more to the point, would it crash sometime before the end of the next day, when the contract between Lawrence and Amati was up?
Even a fortune-teller would find it impossible to predict such a thing, as would anyone short of the gods themselves.
Lawrence pictured in his mind the farmers in a wheat-producing region, using their own ingenuity to carry out the harvests that had once been the sole purview of the gods.
Rather than waiting terrified for the gods to make the price drop, why not become those gods?
A moment after the outrageous arrogance of the idea occurred to him, a great cry arose, and he turned to look.
Lawrence realized that he'd walked all the way back into town and arrived again at the center of the great intersection.
The straw puppets still collided with one another amid angry shouts, each collision bringing a shower of twigs and cries. It was like an actual war.
Lawrence set aside his scheming for a moment to appreciate the intensity of the scene, and he saw something that immediately brought him back to his senses.
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Amati.
Amati was right there.
At first he thought it was some cruel joke of the gods, but then he wondered—even this coincidence might be somehow significant.
Lawrence stood in the heart of Kumersun at the intersection of the main streets running north to south and east to west.
Amati's back was toward the inn where Holo presumably still was.
Amati stopped and slowly looked behind him.
For a moment, Lawrence was afraid that Amati saw him, but no, Amati didn't notice him at all.
Lawrence followed the boy's gaze.
Its direction was obvious.
But what was there? Lawrence had to know.
And there, at a window on the second floor of the inn, facing the broad avenue, fox skin muffler wrapped about her neck, was Holo.