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

Input:
And the more he looked, the heavier the weight of not finding anything became. Holo had not exactly taken her frustration out on him, but back in the storeroom, just how bad was Col feeling?
"I'll go apologize," said Holo.
"You do that," said Lawrence paternally, and Holo broke free from his embrace and grinned a toothy grin.
Time could not be turned back and the correct choice was never obvious, so one had to try to enjoy the present, at least.
That was all Lawrence could say. The rest was up to Holo, he thought as he reopened the book.
"Miss Fran Vonely has returned."
Before standing, Lawrence lightly tapped Holo's knee. He looked back—she was wearing a bright smile, which was more than a little suspicious.
From behind Hugues, who was no doubt unused to having such a smile directed at him by a wolf so nearby, appeared a young girl.
She was not much taller than Col, which put her at about Holo's height.
It was her appearance that made Lawrence's face pale despite himself. She did not have Holo's ears, nor horns like Huskins had. She was just a normal girl—if you ignored the color of her skin and her eyes.
"Is this the merchant who called after me?" Her voice was beautiful and clear and spoke of a good upbringing.
There are many forms of beauty in the world, but Lawrence had never before seen the sort that Fran possessed. Her hair and eyes were jet-black, and she had the dark brown skin common in the desert lands of the south. Hers was a bewitching beauty; she had a mysterious charm to her, the power of all who survived in the hellish deserts. It felt as though she would not quail, even if Holo took her wolf form then and there.
Lawrence swallowed and then finally managed to speak. "I am Kraft Lawrence."
Fran Vonely smiled and gave a slow nod. She introduced herself. "I am Fran Vonely."
"Shall we sit?" said the considerate Hugues, and Lawrence and company all took a seat.
Col clung to Holo's clothing before finally managing to sit, seemingly dazed by Fran's mysterious quality.
"So, what is it that you wished to ask me about?"
The people of the desert spoke a very different language, but Fran's words were well practiced. Her pronunciation was careful and precise, and her education must have been a costly one.
They were said to be a difficult people, but perhaps such worries were unfounded, Lawrence thought behind his merchant's smile. He told her his business. "Yes. We're journeying in search of a certain place in the northlands. All we know is the ancient name of the place. We've heard that you're very well-versed in the old tales, which is what brought us to visit this company."
Fran's face was serious as she listened to Lawrence. "And what is the name of the place?"
"Yoitsu."
Fran narrowed her eyes at Lawrence's answer. "That's the old name of a rather remote area."
"So you're familiar with it?" Lawrence asked with emotion that was half-act, half-genuine. Fran was unmoved, like some stoic seer.
"I am aware of it, but few are able to draw maps of the north, making them extremely precious."
"We would compensate you properly." The moment Lawrence said it, Holo's foot came down upon his, but it was too late.
Perhaps Holo had seen through to Fran's true nature.
"Properly?" said Fran, surprised. Standing behind the chair in which Fran sat, Hugues covered his eyes. "In that case, fifty lumione ought to suffice."
Hers was the attitude of an artisan inexperienced in the ways of negotiation. Lawrence asked himself if he had let his guard down so badly, but even if he had, there was no going back now. There was no way he was going to pay fifty lumione for a single map.
It was such a basic technique that it bordered on child's play. Lawrence found himself at a loss for words, both because of his own foolishness and because of Fran's unexpected boldness. But Holo was standing right there, so he had to say something. He was just about to when Fran's clear voice rang out again.

Output:
"Huh?" Lawrence could not help but let his mask slip completely, and he could feel Holo slump in annoyance.
It was hard to fix a cog once it had gone askew.
But it was not the foolish Lawrence to whom Fran directed her words. It was Holo. "I notice you're dressed as a nun."
"...My name is Holo." Even Holo seemed surprised to be addressed, and she replied only after a short pause.
"Miss Holo, is it? Pleased to meet you. I am Fran Vonely."
Holo, who called herself the wisewolf, was a calm huntress and never let excitement get the better of her during a hunt. "Have you something for me?"
"Yes. If you're a nun, then I would ask a favor of you."
It was Hugues who seemed flustered at these words, probably because he had realized Fran's aim. He took a breath and seemed about to protest, but Fran raised her hand and silenced him. She was a prickly artist, indeed. The very image of one.
"So long as it's in my power."
Fran cocked her head rather than smiling. "It's not so very difficult a thing. Miss Holo, Mr. Lawrence, and..."
"Ah, er—Col! My name's Col."
She nodded at Col. "Mr. Col, then." Just what would she have them do? "With the three of you, it should be fine."
Hugues looked at Lawrence with a desperate look that said, "Stop!"
Fran spoke. "I'd like your help in Taussig."
"...Is that...?"
"Yes. I suppose you've heard from Mr. Hugues? It's the reason I'm in this town. I would ask your assistance in learning more about the village's legend."
Lawrence was underwhelmed. It seemed so simple a thing. But from Hugues's nervousness, it was not as simple as it sounded.
Despite his failure moments earlier, Lawrence prepared himself for the irritation he would earn from Fran when he begged more time to consider. But it was Holo who skipped past that entirely.
"And you'll draw us a map if we assist you?" she asked.
"Yes. So long as you'll gather information and verify its truth."
Lawrence was not unaware of the reason for Holo's smile. Fran was a clever girl—more than clever enough to inflame Holo's love of competition.
Normally she would have laughed off such a vague request as "gather information and verify its truth," demanding a clearer request. Depending on the circumstances, she was not above arm-twisting.
And yet without asking even one more question, Holo simply nodded. "It's a promise, then."
"My thanks." Fran bowed her head, standing after she looked back up. She faced Hugues, who had tried so hard to get a word in and hold her up. "And the preparations for departure?"
"Ah, th-they're all finished."
"Very well. We'll leave tomorrow. Mr. Lawrence, you can handle a wagon?"
Lawrence nodded, and though Fran seemed ready to continue speaking, he headed her off in a final effort to save some small amount of face. "Tomorrow should be fine."
At this, Fran smiled faintly. Perhaps she found Lawrence's attempt to puff himself up amusing. Her smile was that of an innocent maiden. Lawrence again regretted his misstep. It was surprisingly easy to manipulate an innocently and honestly stubborn person. What was truly difficult was someone who knew how to use her smile, which was why Lawrence was constantly burning his hands when dealing with Holo.
Had he known he would be facing someone who could deploy a smile like that at will, Lawrence would have prepared better. He had been too hasty in embracing the impression of her that Kieman and Hugues had given him.
"Mr. Hugues," said Fran, causing Hugues's round body to stiffen straight. "I'll take my dinner in my room. I have preparations to attend to."
"V-very well. Ah, er, but..."
"But?" She used the same smile Holo so often favored.
Hugues fell silent and swallowed. He nodded obediently.
"Please explain the details to Miss Holo and her company, if you will," said Fran, and then she took her leave.
The tail next to Lawrence was puffed up, but the smile was a pleasant one, which was all the more alarming.
Lawrence attempted to at least avoid the mistake of trying to make an excuse. "I'm sorry."


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

Input:
"Huh?" Lawrence could not help but let his mask slip completely, and he could feel Holo slump in annoyance.
It was hard to fix a cog once it had gone askew.
But it was not the foolish Lawrence to whom Fran directed her words. It was Holo. "I notice you're dressed as a nun."
"...My name is Holo." Even Holo seemed surprised to be addressed, and she replied only after a short pause.
"Miss Holo, is it? Pleased to meet you. I am Fran Vonely."
Holo, who called herself the wisewolf, was a calm huntress and never let excitement get the better of her during a hunt. "Have you something for me?"
"Yes. If you're a nun, then I would ask a favor of you."
It was Hugues who seemed flustered at these words, probably because he had realized Fran's aim. He took a breath and seemed about to protest, but Fran raised her hand and silenced him. She was a prickly artist, indeed. The very image of one.
"So long as it's in my power."
Fran cocked her head rather than smiling. "It's not so very difficult a thing. Miss Holo, Mr. Lawrence, and..."
"Ah, er—Col! My name's Col."
She nodded at Col. "Mr. Col, then." Just what would she have them do? "With the three of you, it should be fine."
Hugues looked at Lawrence with a desperate look that said, "Stop!"
Fran spoke. "I'd like your help in Taussig."
"...Is that...?"
"Yes. I suppose you've heard from Mr. Hugues? It's the reason I'm in this town. I would ask your assistance in learning more about the village's legend."
Lawrence was underwhelmed. It seemed so simple a thing. But from Hugues's nervousness, it was not as simple as it sounded.
Despite his failure moments earlier, Lawrence prepared himself for the irritation he would earn from Fran when he begged more time to consider. But it was Holo who skipped past that entirely.
"And you'll draw us a map if we assist you?" she asked.
"Yes. So long as you'll gather information and verify its truth."
Lawrence was not unaware of the reason for Holo's smile. Fran was a clever girl—more than clever enough to inflame Holo's love of competition.
Normally she would have laughed off such a vague request as "gather information and verify its truth," demanding a clearer request. Depending on the circumstances, she was not above arm-twisting.
And yet without asking even one more question, Holo simply nodded. "It's a promise, then."
"My thanks." Fran bowed her head, standing after she looked back up. She faced Hugues, who had tried so hard to get a word in and hold her up. "And the preparations for departure?"
"Ah, th-they're all finished."
"Very well. We'll leave tomorrow. Mr. Lawrence, you can handle a wagon?"
Lawrence nodded, and though Fran seemed ready to continue speaking, he headed her off in a final effort to save some small amount of face. "Tomorrow should be fine."
At this, Fran smiled faintly. Perhaps she found Lawrence's attempt to puff himself up amusing. Her smile was that of an innocent maiden. Lawrence again regretted his misstep. It was surprisingly easy to manipulate an innocently and honestly stubborn person. What was truly difficult was someone who knew how to use her smile, which was why Lawrence was constantly burning his hands when dealing with Holo.
Had he known he would be facing someone who could deploy a smile like that at will, Lawrence would have prepared better. He had been too hasty in embracing the impression of her that Kieman and Hugues had given him.
"Mr. Hugues," said Fran, causing Hugues's round body to stiffen straight. "I'll take my dinner in my room. I have preparations to attend to."
"V-very well. Ah, er, but..."
"But?" She used the same smile Holo so often favored.
Hugues fell silent and swallowed. He nodded obediently.
"Please explain the details to Miss Holo and her company, if you will," said Fran, and then she took her leave.
The tail next to Lawrence was puffed up, but the smile was a pleasant one, which was all the more alarming.
Lawrence attempted to at least avoid the mistake of trying to make an excuse. "I'm sorry."

Output:
Col cringed away as though trying to let sleeping gods lie, and Holo, still smiling, made no move to speak further.
Perhaps feeling the awkwardness, it was Hugues who finally raised his voice. "I've suffered my share at her boldness and unyielding smile, too. She is a stubborn, obstinate silversmith. I chased her in town, across fields, and into the mountains, finally saving her from an accident before she would finally speak to me. So...you are fortunate she was even willing to deal with you, even on the vaguest of terms."
These last words were directed at Holo.
Holo nodded decisively, finally wiping the eerie smile from her face.
"Er, so...Is there something important in Taussig?" Lawrence asked after recovering his composure.
Hugues merely shook his head. "It's just a village like any other."
"So why, then?"
Hugues looked down briefly, then back up, as though peering over spectacles. "Their legend of the forest and lake isn't so special a thing. It's said that once an angel walked alongside the river that flows from the lake, then leapt up a waterfall to a golden door that opened along with the sound of a heavenly beast's cry."
It did indeed sound like the sort of legend one could hear anywhere. But Hugues continued.
"In addition to that, there's another story like that."
"Another one?" Lawrence asked, at which Hugues nodded and began to explain, a certain tone of exhaustion in his voice.
"I suppose you could call it a witch legend. I don't know the details myself, but I hear it's rather famous upriver around Lenos. Evidently there's a legend that a nun also said to be a witch came to Taussig and settled there, or perhaps it's closer to a rumor. The lord of Taussig is loyal to the Church, so of course they all strongly deny that there's a witch there, but..."
"Ah, I see. And because of that, the villagers there are extremely suspicious of outsiders, right?"
Hugues nodded. "The reason Fran asked you along, Mr. Lawrence, is because she knows full well that no one there will so much as speak to her if she goes alone. If nothing else, her ethnicity is very uncommon in this area."
Hugues had lived longer than any human, so Lawrence certainly understood why he would say so. Lawrence, too, had only rarely seen people with brown skin like Fran's.
"Is she from the desert?"
"That is the story. But she's had no parents as long as she can remember and claims to have been raised by a wealthy money changer in the duchy of Laondirre. I have little sense of how she then came to be a silversmith. She's joked about being a slave, but given her attitudes, I wonder how much of that is a joke..."
Lawrence understood Hugues's uneasy smile. Given Fran's diction, anyone would come to a certain conclusion about her background. Of course, slaves could be treated very differently depending on their master, and she might have been bought into a kind and wealthy household—or just as easily adopted into the family but treated cruelly.
There were places where this matched what he had been told by Kieman, and even if not everything lined up, there was at least a certain amount of truth to it.
"She's certainly got pluck."
"Yes. Sometimes I think she must be from a line of warriors somewhere, but...in any case, she has many secrets. Oh, and please keep this—"
"—A secret, of course."
Hugues nodded, and Lawrence returned to the topic at hand.
"Mr. Hugues, you seemed a bit apprehensive—do you think the village will be dangerous?"
Villages were often less welcoming than one might think for a variety of reasons. If they were situated in a place where few traveled, that alone was enough to make outsiders seem suspicious. If it was the sort of place where rumors of a witch would circulate, they might well start to wonder if every visitor had some secret agenda.


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

Input:
Col cringed away as though trying to let sleeping gods lie, and Holo, still smiling, made no move to speak further.
Perhaps feeling the awkwardness, it was Hugues who finally raised his voice. "I've suffered my share at her boldness and unyielding smile, too. She is a stubborn, obstinate silversmith. I chased her in town, across fields, and into the mountains, finally saving her from an accident before she would finally speak to me. So...you are fortunate she was even willing to deal with you, even on the vaguest of terms."
These last words were directed at Holo.
Holo nodded decisively, finally wiping the eerie smile from her face.
"Er, so...Is there something important in Taussig?" Lawrence asked after recovering his composure.
Hugues merely shook his head. "It's just a village like any other."
"So why, then?"
Hugues looked down briefly, then back up, as though peering over spectacles. "Their legend of the forest and lake isn't so special a thing. It's said that once an angel walked alongside the river that flows from the lake, then leapt up a waterfall to a golden door that opened along with the sound of a heavenly beast's cry."
It did indeed sound like the sort of legend one could hear anywhere. But Hugues continued.
"In addition to that, there's another story like that."
"Another one?" Lawrence asked, at which Hugues nodded and began to explain, a certain tone of exhaustion in his voice.
"I suppose you could call it a witch legend. I don't know the details myself, but I hear it's rather famous upriver around Lenos. Evidently there's a legend that a nun also said to be a witch came to Taussig and settled there, or perhaps it's closer to a rumor. The lord of Taussig is loyal to the Church, so of course they all strongly deny that there's a witch there, but..."
"Ah, I see. And because of that, the villagers there are extremely suspicious of outsiders, right?"
Hugues nodded. "The reason Fran asked you along, Mr. Lawrence, is because she knows full well that no one there will so much as speak to her if she goes alone. If nothing else, her ethnicity is very uncommon in this area."
Hugues had lived longer than any human, so Lawrence certainly understood why he would say so. Lawrence, too, had only rarely seen people with brown skin like Fran's.
"Is she from the desert?"
"That is the story. But she's had no parents as long as she can remember and claims to have been raised by a wealthy money changer in the duchy of Laondirre. I have little sense of how she then came to be a silversmith. She's joked about being a slave, but given her attitudes, I wonder how much of that is a joke..."
Lawrence understood Hugues's uneasy smile. Given Fran's diction, anyone would come to a certain conclusion about her background. Of course, slaves could be treated very differently depending on their master, and she might have been bought into a kind and wealthy household—or just as easily adopted into the family but treated cruelly.
There were places where this matched what he had been told by Kieman, and even if not everything lined up, there was at least a certain amount of truth to it.
"She's certainly got pluck."
"Yes. Sometimes I think she must be from a line of warriors somewhere, but...in any case, she has many secrets. Oh, and please keep this—"
"—A secret, of course."
Hugues nodded, and Lawrence returned to the topic at hand.
"Mr. Hugues, you seemed a bit apprehensive—do you think the village will be dangerous?"
Villages were often less welcoming than one might think for a variety of reasons. If they were situated in a place where few traveled, that alone was enough to make outsiders seem suspicious. If it was the sort of place where rumors of a witch would circulate, they might well start to wonder if every visitor had some secret agenda.

Output:
It was an apt metaphor. One would hesitate to open such a jar for fear of what might come out.
"Oh, do you suppose there's anything there that would be dangerous even with me along?" It was Holo whose quip cut through the atmosphere of heavy tension between Lawrence and Hugues.
Lawrence met Hugues's eyes. The two were surely thinking the same thing.
"If you say so, it matters little what we might say, but...," said Lawrence.
"Then I care not. In exchange for fifty gold pieces, she gets to use us as she pleases. Such nerve!" It would have been better if Holo were angry, but she spoke with a smile, so Lawrence's hands were tied. "And that fool's even knowledgeable about the northlands that have you all so intimidated. Is it not just as old man Huskins said?"
It was indeed.
"'Tis true that he who chases two hares catches neither, but no matter how many interesting things are stored in that head of hers, it's still just one head. So if we do not bite it here, when will we?"
It was a lively speech. And yet Holo was not one to say such things lightly. She only did so because she had faith in her comrades to be trustworthy enough to correct her, to challenge her. That was the feeling Lawrence got, looking at Holo's invincible smile.
Which meant he had no reason to disagree.
"So, that's the way of it. Ah, and Hugues, was it?"
"Y-yes?" He straightened at Holo's address.
Holo grinned at the stiff Hugues. "If we should end up angering that fool such that she never trades here again..." It was unlikely, but not impossible, and would be a crushing blow to Hugues's business.
What was Holo going to say? All eyes were on her as she continued in a casual tone, "...Aye, should that happen...I'll apologize."
Hugues was a well-traveled art seller. His forced smile shifted to a genuine one, and he slapped his large belly. "Ah, just like a wolf!"
"Mm." Holo's deliberate little performance.
And yet something about the unlikely friendship between sheep and wolf struck Lawrence as miraculous.
The next day, Lawrence and company found themselves swaying in the Hugues Company's wagon, heading north along the road to the village of Taussig. In the wagon bed was a mountain of provisions: bread and meat, garlic and onions, wine, salt, firewood, and blankets.
Lawrence sat in the driver's seat of the wagon, holding the reins, with Holo and Col snuggled in what space remained in the bed. Fran, who knew the way to the village, rode on a horse of her own.
It had not been particularly long since the last time he had driven a wagon, but somehow driving someone else's wagon made Lawrence uneasy.
"Just who...does that little fool...think she is?" Holo finally said, only getting the words out with some difficulty since her mouth was otherwise occupied.
"That delicious, is it?" asked Lawrence with a resigned sigh as he looked over his shoulder, which made Col flinch in alarm as he sat next to Holo. Normally he only ate what he was given, but he had finally been bold enough to reach into the sack for a second piece.
"Not you, Col. That's only your second piece, right? The one next to you is on her sixth." Lawrence pointed deliberately at Holo, and Col looked dubiously back and forth between Lawrence and the sack, finally nodding.
They were delicious enough to make a captive even of Col, who was the very image of honorable poverty. The leavened rolls had been made with plenty of rich butter.
Holo noisily tore a chunk off a roll, wolfing it down before popping the remainder in her mouth. As her mouth opened and closed in the process, her breath escaped into the cold air in white puffs.
Not even Col could resist the temptation of fresh-baked bread in a chilly wagon bed.
Lawrence got a piece himself but had eaten no more for fear that he might get used to such food and never return to the traveler's life.
"If it gets us so much of this sort of bread, you ought to become an artist yourself!" declared Holo.


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

Input:
It was an apt metaphor. One would hesitate to open such a jar for fear of what might come out.
"Oh, do you suppose there's anything there that would be dangerous even with me along?" It was Holo whose quip cut through the atmosphere of heavy tension between Lawrence and Hugues.
Lawrence met Hugues's eyes. The two were surely thinking the same thing.
"If you say so, it matters little what we might say, but...," said Lawrence.
"Then I care not. In exchange for fifty gold pieces, she gets to use us as she pleases. Such nerve!" It would have been better if Holo were angry, but she spoke with a smile, so Lawrence's hands were tied. "And that fool's even knowledgeable about the northlands that have you all so intimidated. Is it not just as old man Huskins said?"
It was indeed.
"'Tis true that he who chases two hares catches neither, but no matter how many interesting things are stored in that head of hers, it's still just one head. So if we do not bite it here, when will we?"
It was a lively speech. And yet Holo was not one to say such things lightly. She only did so because she had faith in her comrades to be trustworthy enough to correct her, to challenge her. That was the feeling Lawrence got, looking at Holo's invincible smile.
Which meant he had no reason to disagree.
"So, that's the way of it. Ah, and Hugues, was it?"
"Y-yes?" He straightened at Holo's address.
Holo grinned at the stiff Hugues. "If we should end up angering that fool such that she never trades here again..." It was unlikely, but not impossible, and would be a crushing blow to Hugues's business.
What was Holo going to say? All eyes were on her as she continued in a casual tone, "...Aye, should that happen...I'll apologize."
Hugues was a well-traveled art seller. His forced smile shifted to a genuine one, and he slapped his large belly. "Ah, just like a wolf!"
"Mm." Holo's deliberate little performance.
And yet something about the unlikely friendship between sheep and wolf struck Lawrence as miraculous.
The next day, Lawrence and company found themselves swaying in the Hugues Company's wagon, heading north along the road to the village of Taussig. In the wagon bed was a mountain of provisions: bread and meat, garlic and onions, wine, salt, firewood, and blankets.
Lawrence sat in the driver's seat of the wagon, holding the reins, with Holo and Col snuggled in what space remained in the bed. Fran, who knew the way to the village, rode on a horse of her own.
It had not been particularly long since the last time he had driven a wagon, but somehow driving someone else's wagon made Lawrence uneasy.
"Just who...does that little fool...think she is?" Holo finally said, only getting the words out with some difficulty since her mouth was otherwise occupied.
"That delicious, is it?" asked Lawrence with a resigned sigh as he looked over his shoulder, which made Col flinch in alarm as he sat next to Holo. Normally he only ate what he was given, but he had finally been bold enough to reach into the sack for a second piece.
"Not you, Col. That's only your second piece, right? The one next to you is on her sixth." Lawrence pointed deliberately at Holo, and Col looked dubiously back and forth between Lawrence and the sack, finally nodding.
They were delicious enough to make a captive even of Col, who was the very image of honorable poverty. The leavened rolls had been made with plenty of rich butter.
Holo noisily tore a chunk off a roll, wolfing it down before popping the remainder in her mouth. As her mouth opened and closed in the process, her breath escaped into the cold air in white puffs.
Not even Col could resist the temptation of fresh-baked bread in a chilly wagon bed.
Lawrence got a piece himself but had eaten no more for fear that he might get used to such food and never return to the traveler's life.
"If it gets us so much of this sort of bread, you ought to become an artist yourself!" declared Holo.

Output:
"Mm...I suppose."
Lawrence's dream had been postponed while he journeyed with Holo.
Holo drew her chin in and moved closer to the driver's seat. She shoved a roll in Lawrence's mouth. She seemed neither apologetic nor pained.
Lawrence bit into the bread with a smile. The conversation was only possible because they understood each other so well.
"Can you draw, Col?" Lawrence asked over his shoulder.
It looked as though Col was seriously considering shoving the unfinished roll into his own bag for later eating. He flinched as though having been caught doing something embarrassing. He hastily tried to manage some sort of answer, at which Lawrence could not help but laugh.
But before either of them could say anything, Holo popped another roll she had grabbed into Col's bag.
"Ah, er...well, I suppose I can draw angels or spirits..."
"From copying manuscript illustrations?"
Col smiled ticklishly at Holo and then turned back to Lawrence and nodded. "Yes. When I had no money and was rolling out sheepskin parchments on nails, sometimes the scribes would teach me a little."
Col was the sort of boy who would journey south alone just to get closer to the center of Church power in order to protect his own pagan village, but he seemed much more suited to poring over books all day than he did to the adventurous pursuits in which he found himself engaged. Had he been born into different circumstances, he surely would have been a famous scholar.
Lawrence turned his attention to Holo. "And what about you...? I suppose there's no point in asking."
If Holo was to pick up a brush, no doubt she could draw a highly recognizable picture.
"Hmph. I do not draw. You can't eat a picture of an apple," said Holo, as she helped herself to another roll.
"Well, Fran's skills must be impressive for her to command such tribute. And she's followed after legends from many lands," said Lawrence quietly as he looked across the plain before them. The mountains did not seem to be getting any closer. "She's seen a lot of trouble, I'll bet. The northlands are still disputed territory. With belief turning to superstition, and superstition to belief with such dizzying speed, tracking down legends is a dangerous business. Given that, her price might be a fair one."
And the farther north one went, the more difficult it became to find good building stone, which meant even larger buildings were made of wood. Without stained-glass depictions of saints or figures carved in stone columns, which meant their proselytizing would rely on paintings.
With demand up, it stood to reason that the suppliers must profit.
"She's to be admired," murmured Lawrence, stroking his beard.
"Hmph. I've admired quite enough," said Holo, patting her belly and then setting about curling up in a blanket.
They spent the night in the dry, brown grasses of the plains.
There was not much difference between a horse's walking speed and a human's, so travelers on that road all naturally tended to arrive at that spot come nightfall.
It was there that Lawrence halted the horse and built a fire where the grass had been cut low and the remains of older campfires were scattered about. Happily, there was a large round log perfect for leaning against.
Former visitors had been similarly grateful. One place on the log had been stripped of bark, and there the former visitors had carved words of thanks.
The small party warmed the bread—which had turned hard from the chill—by the fire, roasting jerky and cheese to eat along with it. There was no wind, but it was cold enough for a small amount of snow to have piled up here and there, so they naturally wound up huddled together atop the log like little birds. It was warmer for three people to huddle together under three layers of blankets than it was for three people to each have one blanket to themselves.
And it was just three, not four.
Fran lay down in the wagon bed alone.


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

Input:
"Mm...I suppose."
Lawrence's dream had been postponed while he journeyed with Holo.
Holo drew her chin in and moved closer to the driver's seat. She shoved a roll in Lawrence's mouth. She seemed neither apologetic nor pained.
Lawrence bit into the bread with a smile. The conversation was only possible because they understood each other so well.
"Can you draw, Col?" Lawrence asked over his shoulder.
It looked as though Col was seriously considering shoving the unfinished roll into his own bag for later eating. He flinched as though having been caught doing something embarrassing. He hastily tried to manage some sort of answer, at which Lawrence could not help but laugh.
But before either of them could say anything, Holo popped another roll she had grabbed into Col's bag.
"Ah, er...well, I suppose I can draw angels or spirits..."
"From copying manuscript illustrations?"
Col smiled ticklishly at Holo and then turned back to Lawrence and nodded. "Yes. When I had no money and was rolling out sheepskin parchments on nails, sometimes the scribes would teach me a little."
Col was the sort of boy who would journey south alone just to get closer to the center of Church power in order to protect his own pagan village, but he seemed much more suited to poring over books all day than he did to the adventurous pursuits in which he found himself engaged. Had he been born into different circumstances, he surely would have been a famous scholar.
Lawrence turned his attention to Holo. "And what about you...? I suppose there's no point in asking."
If Holo was to pick up a brush, no doubt she could draw a highly recognizable picture.
"Hmph. I do not draw. You can't eat a picture of an apple," said Holo, as she helped herself to another roll.
"Well, Fran's skills must be impressive for her to command such tribute. And she's followed after legends from many lands," said Lawrence quietly as he looked across the plain before them. The mountains did not seem to be getting any closer. "She's seen a lot of trouble, I'll bet. The northlands are still disputed territory. With belief turning to superstition, and superstition to belief with such dizzying speed, tracking down legends is a dangerous business. Given that, her price might be a fair one."
And the farther north one went, the more difficult it became to find good building stone, which meant even larger buildings were made of wood. Without stained-glass depictions of saints or figures carved in stone columns, which meant their proselytizing would rely on paintings.
With demand up, it stood to reason that the suppliers must profit.
"She's to be admired," murmured Lawrence, stroking his beard.
"Hmph. I've admired quite enough," said Holo, patting her belly and then setting about curling up in a blanket.
They spent the night in the dry, brown grasses of the plains.
There was not much difference between a horse's walking speed and a human's, so travelers on that road all naturally tended to arrive at that spot come nightfall.
It was there that Lawrence halted the horse and built a fire where the grass had been cut low and the remains of older campfires were scattered about. Happily, there was a large round log perfect for leaning against.
Former visitors had been similarly grateful. One place on the log had been stripped of bark, and there the former visitors had carved words of thanks.
The small party warmed the bread—which had turned hard from the chill—by the fire, roasting jerky and cheese to eat along with it. There was no wind, but it was cold enough for a small amount of snow to have piled up here and there, so they naturally wound up huddled together atop the log like little birds. It was warmer for three people to huddle together under three layers of blankets than it was for three people to each have one blanket to themselves.
And it was just three, not four.
Fran lay down in the wagon bed alone.

Output:
When Lawrence brought the wrapped stone to her, she shifted beneath her blanket and a hand slid out from under it, accepting the warm rock.
As he gave her this, Lawrence thought he saw her holding a thick book under her blanket.
When he had traveled alone, Lawrence, too, had sometimes resorted to stuffing paper under his shirt for warmth when he was unable to light a fire. It could be even warmer than a blanket.
Fran, too, seemed quite accustomed to hard travel.
"Are you sure you don't want to sit by the fire?" Lawrence asked.
Fran arranged the stone beneath the blanket and looked back up at the sky before answering, "It would ruin my view."
Lawrence understood and nodded.
Fire kept animals away, but it invited humans, whether they were friend or foe. Eyes accustomed to watching the fire would be useless for looking out into the night.
Not only was Fran used to travel, she had accrued a very respectable amount of experience.
"About tomorrow..." Fran directed her gaze to Lawrence after he spoke. She did not seem inclined to sit up, so Lawrence decided to simply continue speaking. "Once we arrive in the village, what sort of arrangements shall we make?"
Lawrence had found himself roundly beaten in their first negotiation at the Hugues Company the previous day. Thinking back on it now, he realized it had surely colored Fran's impression of his capacity as a merchant. Though she had brought Lawrence along to help her gather information, she probably detested the notion of leaving everything to him and his companions, so he posed this question in a humble, servile tone.
But after looking at him steadily for a moment, Fran suddenly smiled and closed her eyes, as though having seen right through the whole of his thinking. "I shall leave it in your capable hands."
Lawrence was surprised at this response, but if she was truly going to rely on him, he would do his best to meet her expectations. "In that case, I'll introduce you as a Church-affiliated silversmith and Holo as a nun. Will that do?"
"...I shouldn't think there will be any problem with that." She'd taken a moment to consider the notion. She could probably see through to roughly how such a story would be received.
"Holo will be an apprentice nun and maidservant. Col will be our guide. I'll be a traveling merchant hired to be the group's eyes and ears."
"Very well," said Fran, but her smile was a thin one.
Lawrence took notice of this. "Is there a problem?"
"...No, nothing. I was just amused at how if we assemble the necessary actors, it's true that even I might look like a nun."
The ability to see one's own self so objectively could indeed be counted as a special skill. Lawrence found himself briefly at a loss for words at how naturally Fran was able to speak as though she were looking at herself from the outside.
"What church?" inquired Fran.
Once he had finished frantically filling in the blanks in Fran's brusque question, Lawrence answered, "Let's say we're from the Church city of Ruvinheigen. There's certainly more than one church there and many factions besides. Even if our answer's a vague one, we won't be easily found out."
"..." Fran opened her eyes and looked at Lawrence.
Lawrence was wondering if he had made some mistake. Fran then looked back up at the sky and spoke. "You're familiar with some rather faraway towns."
Lawrence was relieved that it was only this. "A lie that can't be disproven is no different from the truth. A place as far away as Ruvinheigen is a safer story, I thought."
Fran nodded, her gaze still skyward cast. "Was that your base?"
Base was a curious choice of words. It made Lawrence sound like a bandit or mercenary.


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

Input:
When Lawrence brought the wrapped stone to her, she shifted beneath her blanket and a hand slid out from under it, accepting the warm rock.
As he gave her this, Lawrence thought he saw her holding a thick book under her blanket.
When he had traveled alone, Lawrence, too, had sometimes resorted to stuffing paper under his shirt for warmth when he was unable to light a fire. It could be even warmer than a blanket.
Fran, too, seemed quite accustomed to hard travel.
"Are you sure you don't want to sit by the fire?" Lawrence asked.
Fran arranged the stone beneath the blanket and looked back up at the sky before answering, "It would ruin my view."
Lawrence understood and nodded.
Fire kept animals away, but it invited humans, whether they were friend or foe. Eyes accustomed to watching the fire would be useless for looking out into the night.
Not only was Fran used to travel, she had accrued a very respectable amount of experience.
"About tomorrow..." Fran directed her gaze to Lawrence after he spoke. She did not seem inclined to sit up, so Lawrence decided to simply continue speaking. "Once we arrive in the village, what sort of arrangements shall we make?"
Lawrence had found himself roundly beaten in their first negotiation at the Hugues Company the previous day. Thinking back on it now, he realized it had surely colored Fran's impression of his capacity as a merchant. Though she had brought Lawrence along to help her gather information, she probably detested the notion of leaving everything to him and his companions, so he posed this question in a humble, servile tone.
But after looking at him steadily for a moment, Fran suddenly smiled and closed her eyes, as though having seen right through the whole of his thinking. "I shall leave it in your capable hands."
Lawrence was surprised at this response, but if she was truly going to rely on him, he would do his best to meet her expectations. "In that case, I'll introduce you as a Church-affiliated silversmith and Holo as a nun. Will that do?"
"...I shouldn't think there will be any problem with that." She'd taken a moment to consider the notion. She could probably see through to roughly how such a story would be received.
"Holo will be an apprentice nun and maidservant. Col will be our guide. I'll be a traveling merchant hired to be the group's eyes and ears."
"Very well," said Fran, but her smile was a thin one.
Lawrence took notice of this. "Is there a problem?"
"...No, nothing. I was just amused at how if we assemble the necessary actors, it's true that even I might look like a nun."
The ability to see one's own self so objectively could indeed be counted as a special skill. Lawrence found himself briefly at a loss for words at how naturally Fran was able to speak as though she were looking at herself from the outside.
"What church?" inquired Fran.
Once he had finished frantically filling in the blanks in Fran's brusque question, Lawrence answered, "Let's say we're from the Church city of Ruvinheigen. There's certainly more than one church there and many factions besides. Even if our answer's a vague one, we won't be easily found out."
"..." Fran opened her eyes and looked at Lawrence.
Lawrence was wondering if he had made some mistake. Fran then looked back up at the sky and spoke. "You're familiar with some rather faraway towns."
Lawrence was relieved that it was only this. "A lie that can't be disproven is no different from the truth. A place as far away as Ruvinheigen is a safer story, I thought."
Fran nodded, her gaze still skyward cast. "Was that your base?"
Base was a curious choice of words. It made Lawrence sound like a bandit or mercenary.

Output:
Fran's face was still upturned, her eyes closed, but Lawrence nonetheless got the feeling that she was listening to him. For her to be interested in this story at all made Lawrence wonder if she had some sort of attachment to the region.
At length, Fran spoke as though giving voice to words she heard from the sky. "So this map of the north you want is for..." She opened her eyes, and when she looked at Lawrence, it seemed as though the night sky had melted into them. It was common for stubborn, eccentric people to feel things more deeply than most.
Lawrence was not going to use that to his advantage, but he spoke such that his words would have their greatest effect. "Yes...the only thing my companion remembers about her homeland is that it was called Yoitsu."
Fran's eyes did not waver. "I see," she said, closing them, this time not looking up again, but leaning her head over. She shifted lightly under the blanket, and given that a gentle sigh followed, Lawrence realized she was trying to go to sleep.
Her way of unilaterally ending the conversation made Lawrence understand why she had a reputation for being difficult; it was almost too archetypal.
Perhaps Fran was neither so stubborn nor as eccentric as her reputation suggested, Lawrence mused, but there was no telling what would happen if he was to point that out.
Lawrence quietly made ready to leave her be, but before he did, Fran spoke one last time.
"I shall be counting on you tomorrow."
Lawrence nodded, whereupon Fran did just as she seemed to be doing and fell asleep.
***
The wagon swerved violently to one side. The motion seemed to have awakened Holo.
"...Have we arrived?" She yawned a great yawn, shaking her head lazily from side to side.
The now-close mountains were dotted with trees even in this cold season, and here and there white stuff could be seen. The grassy field looked like a flat plane but was actually a gentle slope, and if one looked upslope, it was clear it descended from an impressive height. It was not Lawrence's imagination that the air was cooler here than in Kerube, and a thin layer of snow stuck to the road.
"If we turn down this road, then go straight, we'll soon be at the village, apparently."
The field of golden, knee-high grass stretched far to the east. If they did not turn and instead proceeded straight, they would evidently run straight into the foot of the mountains.
Lawrence and company had stopped their horses here to practice their various roles and stories before entering the village. Holo had grumbled the previous night but generally enjoyed such theatrical dissembling.
Once they had run through their stories, Fran took the lead and they set off again. Holo's tail swished happily beneath her robe.
"Speaking of which, I neglected to ask you, but that wasn't you in that tale, was it?" asked Lawrence suddenly, as Fran seemed in a hurry and had opened up a bit of distance between her and the wagon.
Holo replied without much interest as she ate a small piece of jerky. "Alas, I've no bird friends aside from that one lass from some time ago, and I've no feathers myself."
"And no ideas, either?"
Holo shook her head wordlessly and sighed. "Had the legendary figure in question been me, they would've forced that fool to draw them a map..." She turned away as though apologizing for trouble she had caused.
If Lawrence suspected this as being an act, he would surely make her angry, and yet it had to be an act. Col seemed to be frantically trying to think of the words with which to console her, but meeting his eyes, Lawrence only smiled.
"If all goes well when we begin to ask around, how shall we fill our remaining time?" he asked.
Holo looked up suddenly and smiled. Partially because she was holding Col's hand in a very sibling-like fashion, she suddenly seemed much like the young maiden she appeared to be.
No doubt she was not entirely in earnest, but at least some part of her was.


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

Input:
Fran's face was still upturned, her eyes closed, but Lawrence nonetheless got the feeling that she was listening to him. For her to be interested in this story at all made Lawrence wonder if she had some sort of attachment to the region.
At length, Fran spoke as though giving voice to words she heard from the sky. "So this map of the north you want is for..." She opened her eyes, and when she looked at Lawrence, it seemed as though the night sky had melted into them. It was common for stubborn, eccentric people to feel things more deeply than most.
Lawrence was not going to use that to his advantage, but he spoke such that his words would have their greatest effect. "Yes...the only thing my companion remembers about her homeland is that it was called Yoitsu."
Fran's eyes did not waver. "I see," she said, closing them, this time not looking up again, but leaning her head over. She shifted lightly under the blanket, and given that a gentle sigh followed, Lawrence realized she was trying to go to sleep.
Her way of unilaterally ending the conversation made Lawrence understand why she had a reputation for being difficult; it was almost too archetypal.
Perhaps Fran was neither so stubborn nor as eccentric as her reputation suggested, Lawrence mused, but there was no telling what would happen if he was to point that out.
Lawrence quietly made ready to leave her be, but before he did, Fran spoke one last time.
"I shall be counting on you tomorrow."
Lawrence nodded, whereupon Fran did just as she seemed to be doing and fell asleep.
***
The wagon swerved violently to one side. The motion seemed to have awakened Holo.
"...Have we arrived?" She yawned a great yawn, shaking her head lazily from side to side.
The now-close mountains were dotted with trees even in this cold season, and here and there white stuff could be seen. The grassy field looked like a flat plane but was actually a gentle slope, and if one looked upslope, it was clear it descended from an impressive height. It was not Lawrence's imagination that the air was cooler here than in Kerube, and a thin layer of snow stuck to the road.
"If we turn down this road, then go straight, we'll soon be at the village, apparently."
The field of golden, knee-high grass stretched far to the east. If they did not turn and instead proceeded straight, they would evidently run straight into the foot of the mountains.
Lawrence and company had stopped their horses here to practice their various roles and stories before entering the village. Holo had grumbled the previous night but generally enjoyed such theatrical dissembling.
Once they had run through their stories, Fran took the lead and they set off again. Holo's tail swished happily beneath her robe.
"Speaking of which, I neglected to ask you, but that wasn't you in that tale, was it?" asked Lawrence suddenly, as Fran seemed in a hurry and had opened up a bit of distance between her and the wagon.
Holo replied without much interest as she ate a small piece of jerky. "Alas, I've no bird friends aside from that one lass from some time ago, and I've no feathers myself."
"And no ideas, either?"
Holo shook her head wordlessly and sighed. "Had the legendary figure in question been me, they would've forced that fool to draw them a map..." She turned away as though apologizing for trouble she had caused.
If Lawrence suspected this as being an act, he would surely make her angry, and yet it had to be an act. Col seemed to be frantically trying to think of the words with which to console her, but meeting his eyes, Lawrence only smiled.
"If all goes well when we begin to ask around, how shall we fill our remaining time?" he asked.
Holo looked up suddenly and smiled. Partially because she was holding Col's hand in a very sibling-like fashion, she suddenly seemed much like the young maiden she appeared to be.
No doubt she was not entirely in earnest, but at least some part of her was.

Output:
It seemed unlikely that much wheat bread was baked in Taussig, nestled as it was at the foot of the mountains. Half buried in the foothills, it had an apologetic little excuse of a fence to keep out wild animals, hung with wards for driving off evil spirits—evidence of the Church.
Had they not already heard the rumors of a witch, the placement of those wards would have been strange, because indifferent to the darkness and danger that lurked in the mountains, they instead faced out toward the plains. It made Lawrence imagine inexperienced travelers who feared only the wolves before them, heedless of the bandits behind them.
He imagined Taussig to be a gloomy, sparsely peopled village, but it was not so. The sound of happy children's voices could be heard from the houses, and sheep and goats grazed lazily in the village's wide lanes. It seemed a perfectly normal village.
It was said that the source of most quarrels was mutual ignorance, and perhaps that was not so untrue.
Lawrence climbed off the wagon, looking to the still-mounted Fran. "If you would, please," she said quietly.
With his left hand he took the reins of Fran's horse, and with his right the reins of the wagon horse, and proceeded slowly into the village. Eventually an old man sitting on a roughly hewn wooden bench at one corner of the village's entrance took notice of them.
"Now, then," said Lawrence softly, putting on his best merchant's smile.
"My, my...have we travelers here?" It looked as though the old man was out watching the livestock as they grazed. His hand gripped a shepherd's staff.
"Greetings to you. I am a traveling merchant. My name is Kraft Lawrence."
"Oh, a merchant, are you?" Wrinkles appeared around the old man's eyes, as though he was wondering what business a merchant could possibly have in this town.
In the village, first the children and then the rest of the villagers began to take notice of their unusual visitors. Some watched from their eaves, others from cracks in their wooden windows.
"We've come from Ruvinheigen, a place far to the south."
"Ruvin..."
"Ruvinheigen."
The old man nodded and fixed his gaze on Lawrence and his party for a time. When the old man was not moving, he looked like a doll made from tree bark.
"It's known as the city of the Church."
Suddenly the man's gaze moved from Lawrence to Fran, up on her horse—and then, moments later, to Holo and Col, who had climbed down from the wagon bed.
Then with a sudden sigh he looked back at Lawrence with a troubled gaze. "What business would people of the Church have with this village?"
Lawrence answered, with a huge smile that would have made a child burst into tears, "Actually, we've heard tell of a legend regarding a holy angel that came to earth here. As faithful servants of God, we were hoping we could hear more of the tale..." The old man did not immediately react, so Lawrence jokingly continued, "Is the angel here in the village now?"
"No! Don't be absurd!"
The old man's voice was so suddenly strident that Lawrence was momentarily taken aback. The loud voice startled the livestock as well; the hogs squealed and the goats stamped their hooves. The chickens, though flightless, flapped their wings to escape, and the old man looked Lawrence in the eye.
"It had nothing to do with this village. It's true that it came through here but merely asked directions. It truly, truly had no business here!"
The man was desperately insistent. Lawrence hastily tried to clear his head and think things over. It came through here? And had nothing to do with the village?
"I understand. I understand!" It was all Lawrence could do to raise his hands in mollification. He certainly was not going to pose another question.
The old man's shoulders moved with his heavy breathing, and he leaned forward, eyes wide, as though he had yet more to say. His lips trembled, either from overexcitement or simple anger.
But what had put him in such a state?


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

Input:
It seemed unlikely that much wheat bread was baked in Taussig, nestled as it was at the foot of the mountains. Half buried in the foothills, it had an apologetic little excuse of a fence to keep out wild animals, hung with wards for driving off evil spirits—evidence of the Church.
Had they not already heard the rumors of a witch, the placement of those wards would have been strange, because indifferent to the darkness and danger that lurked in the mountains, they instead faced out toward the plains. It made Lawrence imagine inexperienced travelers who feared only the wolves before them, heedless of the bandits behind them.
He imagined Taussig to be a gloomy, sparsely peopled village, but it was not so. The sound of happy children's voices could be heard from the houses, and sheep and goats grazed lazily in the village's wide lanes. It seemed a perfectly normal village.
It was said that the source of most quarrels was mutual ignorance, and perhaps that was not so untrue.
Lawrence climbed off the wagon, looking to the still-mounted Fran. "If you would, please," she said quietly.
With his left hand he took the reins of Fran's horse, and with his right the reins of the wagon horse, and proceeded slowly into the village. Eventually an old man sitting on a roughly hewn wooden bench at one corner of the village's entrance took notice of them.
"Now, then," said Lawrence softly, putting on his best merchant's smile.
"My, my...have we travelers here?" It looked as though the old man was out watching the livestock as they grazed. His hand gripped a shepherd's staff.
"Greetings to you. I am a traveling merchant. My name is Kraft Lawrence."
"Oh, a merchant, are you?" Wrinkles appeared around the old man's eyes, as though he was wondering what business a merchant could possibly have in this town.
In the village, first the children and then the rest of the villagers began to take notice of their unusual visitors. Some watched from their eaves, others from cracks in their wooden windows.
"We've come from Ruvinheigen, a place far to the south."
"Ruvin..."
"Ruvinheigen."
The old man nodded and fixed his gaze on Lawrence and his party for a time. When the old man was not moving, he looked like a doll made from tree bark.
"It's known as the city of the Church."
Suddenly the man's gaze moved from Lawrence to Fran, up on her horse—and then, moments later, to Holo and Col, who had climbed down from the wagon bed.
Then with a sudden sigh he looked back at Lawrence with a troubled gaze. "What business would people of the Church have with this village?"
Lawrence answered, with a huge smile that would have made a child burst into tears, "Actually, we've heard tell of a legend regarding a holy angel that came to earth here. As faithful servants of God, we were hoping we could hear more of the tale..." The old man did not immediately react, so Lawrence jokingly continued, "Is the angel here in the village now?"
"No! Don't be absurd!"
The old man's voice was so suddenly strident that Lawrence was momentarily taken aback. The loud voice startled the livestock as well; the hogs squealed and the goats stamped their hooves. The chickens, though flightless, flapped their wings to escape, and the old man looked Lawrence in the eye.
"It had nothing to do with this village. It's true that it came through here but merely asked directions. It truly, truly had no business here!"
The man was desperately insistent. Lawrence hastily tried to clear his head and think things over. It came through here? And had nothing to do with the village?
"I understand. I understand!" It was all Lawrence could do to raise his hands in mollification. He certainly was not going to pose another question.
The old man's shoulders moved with his heavy breathing, and he leaned forward, eyes wide, as though he had yet more to say. His lips trembled, either from overexcitement or simple anger.
But what had put him in such a state?

Output:
Lawrence heard the rustle of clothing behind him; Col was making himself ready. Holo did likewise—because the men were all carrying large hatchets or knives.
Fran, meanwhile, did not so much as move, instead remaining hooded atop her horse.
Lawrence indicated with his hand that they should keep calm, but not because he was trying to preserve his pride in front of Fran, nor out of empty reassurance. If all the men had been carrying were weapons, he would have done an about-face on the spot, and the reason he had not was probably the same reason Fran had not.
The three men that approached were bloodstained up to their elbows, and their faces showed irritation at having been interrupted. The hatchets and knives had surely been used for butchering, and after all, when someone has proposed to kill another, their expression is not one of annoyance.
"Travelers, are you?" asked the most sturdily built of the three middle-aged men. The old man looked over his shoulder and tried to speak.
"It's all right, elder. Calm yourself."
The elder's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. It seemed the men's expressions of irritation were directed not at the outsiders, but instead at the village elder, the old man.
"Circa!"
The man turned around and shouted, and a woman emerged from one of the homes.
He indicated the elder with his posture, and the woman seemed to immediately understand and approached.
The man directed the woman he had called Circa over to the old man and patted his back reassuringly. He then looked over at Lawrence.
"Apologies, kind travelers. He didn't say anything too terrible to you, did he?" he asked, dropping his hatchet on the ground. As he casually rubbed his gore-stained hands off on his trousers, he seemed to immediately know who among the band of travelers would speak for them. This was something townspeople always know, but those raised in small villages frequently struggled with the issue.
Lawrence found himself surprised by those who lived like this—people for whom status or wealth was a mere fantasy.
"No, not at all. However, I appear to have asked him something terrible, as he seemed deeply frightened...," Lawrence said, trying to elicit useful information.
The bearded man smiled ruefully. "Misfortune always comes from the outside, after all."
He seemed to know the way of the world. Perhaps he handled the village's dealings with the outside world. So if Lawrence showed his thanks, perhaps it would be returned in kind.
"My name is Kraft Lawrence. I'm a traveling merchant," he said, extending his right hand.
The man looked Lawrence straight in the face, then down to his own hand, then to the hand Lawrence offered. After a time, he finally took the hand. "Heureux Mueller," he said. "So, there aren't many possibilities for why the elder would be so afraid. One, his time has come. Two, a tax collector has come. Three, someone asking after bad rumors has come."
Mountain villages relied on hunting in between stints of farming work. Mueller's folded arms were twice as thick as Lawrence's and splattered with blood up to their elbows, which made them seem even more intimidating. Though Lawrence felt no malice from him or the men on either side of him, these were men who radiated heat from head to toe, blades in hand, as though to offer proof they had just been doing hard labor.
But if he backed down here, it would be implying a debt on their part to him. "Actually, we've come to hear the legend of the angel."
"The angel?" The man knit his brow and glanced at Lawrence's traveling companions behind him. Then he continued, as though suddenly remembering something, "Oh! So that's it, eh?"
"Might we be able to hear more?" Lawrence asked, his eyes upturned with a trace of humility.


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

Input:
Lawrence heard the rustle of clothing behind him; Col was making himself ready. Holo did likewise—because the men were all carrying large hatchets or knives.
Fran, meanwhile, did not so much as move, instead remaining hooded atop her horse.
Lawrence indicated with his hand that they should keep calm, but not because he was trying to preserve his pride in front of Fran, nor out of empty reassurance. If all the men had been carrying were weapons, he would have done an about-face on the spot, and the reason he had not was probably the same reason Fran had not.
The three men that approached were bloodstained up to their elbows, and their faces showed irritation at having been interrupted. The hatchets and knives had surely been used for butchering, and after all, when someone has proposed to kill another, their expression is not one of annoyance.
"Travelers, are you?" asked the most sturdily built of the three middle-aged men. The old man looked over his shoulder and tried to speak.
"It's all right, elder. Calm yourself."
The elder's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. It seemed the men's expressions of irritation were directed not at the outsiders, but instead at the village elder, the old man.
"Circa!"
The man turned around and shouted, and a woman emerged from one of the homes.
He indicated the elder with his posture, and the woman seemed to immediately understand and approached.
The man directed the woman he had called Circa over to the old man and patted his back reassuringly. He then looked over at Lawrence.
"Apologies, kind travelers. He didn't say anything too terrible to you, did he?" he asked, dropping his hatchet on the ground. As he casually rubbed his gore-stained hands off on his trousers, he seemed to immediately know who among the band of travelers would speak for them. This was something townspeople always know, but those raised in small villages frequently struggled with the issue.
Lawrence found himself surprised by those who lived like this—people for whom status or wealth was a mere fantasy.
"No, not at all. However, I appear to have asked him something terrible, as he seemed deeply frightened...," Lawrence said, trying to elicit useful information.
The bearded man smiled ruefully. "Misfortune always comes from the outside, after all."
He seemed to know the way of the world. Perhaps he handled the village's dealings with the outside world. So if Lawrence showed his thanks, perhaps it would be returned in kind.
"My name is Kraft Lawrence. I'm a traveling merchant," he said, extending his right hand.
The man looked Lawrence straight in the face, then down to his own hand, then to the hand Lawrence offered. After a time, he finally took the hand. "Heureux Mueller," he said. "So, there aren't many possibilities for why the elder would be so afraid. One, his time has come. Two, a tax collector has come. Three, someone asking after bad rumors has come."
Mountain villages relied on hunting in between stints of farming work. Mueller's folded arms were twice as thick as Lawrence's and splattered with blood up to their elbows, which made them seem even more intimidating. Though Lawrence felt no malice from him or the men on either side of him, these were men who radiated heat from head to toe, blades in hand, as though to offer proof they had just been doing hard labor.
But if he backed down here, it would be implying a debt on their part to him. "Actually, we've come to hear the legend of the angel."
"The angel?" The man knit his brow and glanced at Lawrence's traveling companions behind him. Then he continued, as though suddenly remembering something, "Oh! So that's it, eh?"
"Might we be able to hear more?" Lawrence asked, his eyes upturned with a trace of humility.

Output:
If people could believe each other's words, then there would be no liars or thieves anywhere in the world and no reason for doubt.
Even supposing the man was such a good liar that Lawrence could not see through him, Holo would not be deceived.
"Now then, kind traveler...Mr. Lawrence, was it? Have you and your companions eaten?"
Had he been traveling by himself, he would not have refused a meal even if he had already been full. But Lawrence gave Fran a questioning look, and the well-traveled Fran seemed to agree.
"No, we haven't," said Lawrence.
"Then we'll treat you to some of the deer we've just slaughtered," said Mueller. He looked around, perhaps searching for the person who would take on that duty.
"Vino, we'll handle the tanning. Let us borrow your hearth, will you?"
"Ah, God's will be done," said the man called Vino jokingly. Tanning was hard work, so to instead lend one's hearth out and entertain guests, knowing he would have his own share of meat and wine, was cause for a pleased word or two.
But Mueller's face turned stern. "This isn't leisure time, understand?" He was of goodly years in addition to his size, so when he turned intimidating, it was rather impressive.
Vino's affability led him to duck his head. "I know, I know. 'No wine,' right?"
Lawrence chuckled a sincere laugh at the friendly antics of the villagers. But then he noticed Fran watching the proceedings with a look that could only be described as nostalgic. She had apparently grown up in the home of a wealthy money changer in the south, so it was a bit strange for her to be nostalgic for this kind of conversation.
Lawrence wondered if she was thinking about the things that had happened on her travels thus far, when Vino turned to him and spoke. "Now then, this way. Follow me!"
Vino led Lawrence and company into a typical village cottage. Beside the cottage was a little field without so much as a fence, and beside that were stakes to which goats and chickens were tied. A large awning hung out over the garden, under which a woman with a baby tied to her back sat on the ground, kerchief around her head as she worked grain on a grindstone in front of her.
Vino called out lightly to her, and as he approached, he gave the baby a kiss, leading Lawrence to wonder if he and the woman were husband and wife. The woman wiped the sweat from her brow and stood, clapping her hands free from dust as she approached Lawrence and looked the little group over in mild surprise. She then nodded as though she had accepted a great responsibility.
"I'll go fetch some firewood, so please go and wait inside."
Vino nodded, and Lawrence and his companions entered their home.
The floor was packed earth, and over the hearth hung a hook from the ceiling. There was a small, snug opening in the ceiling to let smoke escape, and Lawrence thought he could see traces of birds' nests built boldly into the roof. In one corner of the room, straw raincoats and cages hung. It was every inch the winter cottage. There was a tenuous little fire smoldering in the hearth, which somehow made it look even colder.
Fran was content to play the guest and sat unhesitatingly down by the hearth. When Holo and Col started poking at the strings of onions hanging from the beams, Vino returned from the field behind the cottage with an armful of firewood.
"So you grind flour by hand in this village?"
"Hmm? Ah, oh yes. You can just leave your things there. We'll just add these to the fire...there. I'll go get some meat," said Vino as he skillfully lay the firewood in the hearth. He gave it a couple of strong blows and then nodded in satisfaction before hurrying back out of the cottage.
"Why do you ask?" Holo asked.
"Hmm?"
Holo was gazing out through a crack in a wooden window set in one corner of the earth wall and had not even looked back when she had asked her question. Perhaps she meant the flour grinding.


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

Input:
If people could believe each other's words, then there would be no liars or thieves anywhere in the world and no reason for doubt.
Even supposing the man was such a good liar that Lawrence could not see through him, Holo would not be deceived.
"Now then, kind traveler...Mr. Lawrence, was it? Have you and your companions eaten?"
Had he been traveling by himself, he would not have refused a meal even if he had already been full. But Lawrence gave Fran a questioning look, and the well-traveled Fran seemed to agree.
"No, we haven't," said Lawrence.
"Then we'll treat you to some of the deer we've just slaughtered," said Mueller. He looked around, perhaps searching for the person who would take on that duty.
"Vino, we'll handle the tanning. Let us borrow your hearth, will you?"
"Ah, God's will be done," said the man called Vino jokingly. Tanning was hard work, so to instead lend one's hearth out and entertain guests, knowing he would have his own share of meat and wine, was cause for a pleased word or two.
But Mueller's face turned stern. "This isn't leisure time, understand?" He was of goodly years in addition to his size, so when he turned intimidating, it was rather impressive.
Vino's affability led him to duck his head. "I know, I know. 'No wine,' right?"
Lawrence chuckled a sincere laugh at the friendly antics of the villagers. But then he noticed Fran watching the proceedings with a look that could only be described as nostalgic. She had apparently grown up in the home of a wealthy money changer in the south, so it was a bit strange for her to be nostalgic for this kind of conversation.
Lawrence wondered if she was thinking about the things that had happened on her travels thus far, when Vino turned to him and spoke. "Now then, this way. Follow me!"
Vino led Lawrence and company into a typical village cottage. Beside the cottage was a little field without so much as a fence, and beside that were stakes to which goats and chickens were tied. A large awning hung out over the garden, under which a woman with a baby tied to her back sat on the ground, kerchief around her head as she worked grain on a grindstone in front of her.
Vino called out lightly to her, and as he approached, he gave the baby a kiss, leading Lawrence to wonder if he and the woman were husband and wife. The woman wiped the sweat from her brow and stood, clapping her hands free from dust as she approached Lawrence and looked the little group over in mild surprise. She then nodded as though she had accepted a great responsibility.
"I'll go fetch some firewood, so please go and wait inside."
Vino nodded, and Lawrence and his companions entered their home.
The floor was packed earth, and over the hearth hung a hook from the ceiling. There was a small, snug opening in the ceiling to let smoke escape, and Lawrence thought he could see traces of birds' nests built boldly into the roof. In one corner of the room, straw raincoats and cages hung. It was every inch the winter cottage. There was a tenuous little fire smoldering in the hearth, which somehow made it look even colder.
Fran was content to play the guest and sat unhesitatingly down by the hearth. When Holo and Col started poking at the strings of onions hanging from the beams, Vino returned from the field behind the cottage with an armful of firewood.
"So you grind flour by hand in this village?"
"Hmm? Ah, oh yes. You can just leave your things there. We'll just add these to the fire...there. I'll go get some meat," said Vino as he skillfully lay the firewood in the hearth. He gave it a couple of strong blows and then nodded in satisfaction before hurrying back out of the cottage.
"Why do you ask?" Holo asked.
"Hmm?"
Holo was gazing out through a crack in a wooden window set in one corner of the earth wall and had not even looked back when she had asked her question. Perhaps she meant the flour grinding.

Output:
The millstone Vino's wife had been using was essentially two flat stones placed one atop the other, and between them enough flour could be ground to suffice for a single family's daily needs. But of course the bigger the stone, the greater the amount of flour that could be ground at once.
Since grinding enough to bake bread every day was crucial, most villages would build a water mill, if there was a river nearby, that all the villagers could use. But not for free—in most places, the local landowner would construct the mill and tax villagers or merchants for its use. The landlord could not collect taxes from villagers who ground their grain by hand, and it struck Lawrence as odd.
Holo nodded, though it was unclear whether she accepted Lawrence's explanation or not—probably because she simply lacked interest.
Lawrence sat across the hearth from Fran, and Holo and Col followed him. He indicated that Holo should sit next to Fran. She was Fran's chaperone, after all, so she could not very well do otherwise. Holo looked irritated but complied.
Fran, meanwhile, had been quiet the entire time, but Lawrence got the feeling she had paid attention during his explanation of the millstones. He would have to ask Holo about that later.
As the thought occurred to Lawrence, Vino returned, carrying a basket filled with venison.
Into a burbling, boiling pot hanging from the hook, which in turn hung from the ceiling, were tossed thin, meager carrots, burdock, and other vegetables. Beside the pot the pile of venison was made ready, and despite having eaten so much bread, Holo fidgeted beneath her robe at the sight of it.
Lawrence felt bad for being treated so and had offered something of theirs—not bread or jerky from their large stores, but rather a modest amount of salt. At this, Vino and his wife's eyes had gone round, and Lawrence was reminded of how drastically conditions could change from one place to another. Here there was plenty of venison but obtaining salt was difficult.
If he was to tell Holo that this principle was the key to business, he would get nothing more than a disdainful sniff for his trouble, no doubt.
"Should be ready soon," declared Vino as his wife stirred the pot of vegetables and added the meat.
Without the meat, it probably would not have been to Holo's liking, but the stew had a familiar earthy smell. The meat was soon boiled and portioned out to Col, Lawrence, and Holo in order of proximity.
When it came time to serve the still-silent Fran, she spoke up slowly. "I-I cannot eat meat—"
"Oh!" said Vino's wife, who was doing the ladling.
In a village like this one, with no church, it was possible that the knowledge that clergy members abstained from meat was rather sparse.
Vino's wife looked hastily at Holo, who was nearly on the verge of tears at the prospect of not being able to eat meat.
Surprisingly it was Vino who spoke up next. "Ah, yes, I've heard that moderation pleases God, but...I believe you may at least eat some vegetables."
Holo nodded, and Vino continued speaking.
"This deer ate nothing but leaves from the day it was born, so it's no different than those plants it ate." Vino took the ladle from his wife and served Holo five generous slices of venison. He offered to do the same for Fran, but beneath her hood she smiled and refused. Lawrence wondered if Vino would insist, but in the end, Fran's bowl was filled with only broth and vegetables.
This was not because he was surprised by the depth of her piety, but rather because he had noticed the color of her skin. Vino's shock was obvious. Given that even people in a busy town would have the same reaction, it was hardly strange that these villagers were surprised.
And being responsible for welcoming these guests, it would bring him shame if he treated them impolitely. "Now, then, please eat," Vino said, recovering his composure.


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

Input:
The millstone Vino's wife had been using was essentially two flat stones placed one atop the other, and between them enough flour could be ground to suffice for a single family's daily needs. But of course the bigger the stone, the greater the amount of flour that could be ground at once.
Since grinding enough to bake bread every day was crucial, most villages would build a water mill, if there was a river nearby, that all the villagers could use. But not for free—in most places, the local landowner would construct the mill and tax villagers or merchants for its use. The landlord could not collect taxes from villagers who ground their grain by hand, and it struck Lawrence as odd.
Holo nodded, though it was unclear whether she accepted Lawrence's explanation or not—probably because she simply lacked interest.
Lawrence sat across the hearth from Fran, and Holo and Col followed him. He indicated that Holo should sit next to Fran. She was Fran's chaperone, after all, so she could not very well do otherwise. Holo looked irritated but complied.
Fran, meanwhile, had been quiet the entire time, but Lawrence got the feeling she had paid attention during his explanation of the millstones. He would have to ask Holo about that later.
As the thought occurred to Lawrence, Vino returned, carrying a basket filled with venison.
Into a burbling, boiling pot hanging from the hook, which in turn hung from the ceiling, were tossed thin, meager carrots, burdock, and other vegetables. Beside the pot the pile of venison was made ready, and despite having eaten so much bread, Holo fidgeted beneath her robe at the sight of it.
Lawrence felt bad for being treated so and had offered something of theirs—not bread or jerky from their large stores, but rather a modest amount of salt. At this, Vino and his wife's eyes had gone round, and Lawrence was reminded of how drastically conditions could change from one place to another. Here there was plenty of venison but obtaining salt was difficult.
If he was to tell Holo that this principle was the key to business, he would get nothing more than a disdainful sniff for his trouble, no doubt.
"Should be ready soon," declared Vino as his wife stirred the pot of vegetables and added the meat.
Without the meat, it probably would not have been to Holo's liking, but the stew had a familiar earthy smell. The meat was soon boiled and portioned out to Col, Lawrence, and Holo in order of proximity.
When it came time to serve the still-silent Fran, she spoke up slowly. "I-I cannot eat meat—"
"Oh!" said Vino's wife, who was doing the ladling.
In a village like this one, with no church, it was possible that the knowledge that clergy members abstained from meat was rather sparse.
Vino's wife looked hastily at Holo, who was nearly on the verge of tears at the prospect of not being able to eat meat.
Surprisingly it was Vino who spoke up next. "Ah, yes, I've heard that moderation pleases God, but...I believe you may at least eat some vegetables."
Holo nodded, and Vino continued speaking.
"This deer ate nothing but leaves from the day it was born, so it's no different than those plants it ate." Vino took the ladle from his wife and served Holo five generous slices of venison. He offered to do the same for Fran, but beneath her hood she smiled and refused. Lawrence wondered if Vino would insist, but in the end, Fran's bowl was filled with only broth and vegetables.
This was not because he was surprised by the depth of her piety, but rather because he had noticed the color of her skin. Vino's shock was obvious. Given that even people in a busy town would have the same reaction, it was hardly strange that these villagers were surprised.
And being responsible for welcoming these guests, it would bring him shame if he treated them impolitely. "Now, then, please eat," Vino said, recovering his composure.

Output:
"It's delicious."
It was such a standard phrase, but Vino and his wife smiled, pleased.
"The deer was butchered just this morning. You're quite lucky."
"It's true, meat this good is hard to come by in towns."
The key to being liked by villagers was to eat and drink well. Holo immediately asked for seconds, and Vino's eyes went round as he laughed heartily.
"So, you're here for the legend of the angel? You'd come all the way out here just for that?" Vino adjusted the logs in the hearth, causing sparks to go flying up toward the roof. The risk of fire made such actions unthinkable in a town, but here if the house burned, they could simply build another one, and there was little danger that the fire would spread to nearby buildings.
"Yes. Though we heard the broad strokes of it back in town." Lawrence set his bowl down before wiping his mouth and gesturing to Fran. "Circumstances led to my becoming a guide for Miss Fran here, and she simply must learn more about the legend."
"I see...But why would a nun wish to know such a thing?"
"While Miss Fran is a nun who's pledged service to her holy order, she's also an exceptional silversmith. The bishop has charged her to make a silver statue in the image of the angel."
"I see..." Vino gave a hesitant smile as he regarded Fran. Fran averted her eyes as though used to this sort of treatment. In doing so, she did seem quite the godly nun.
By contrast, Holo opened her mouth wide, the better to accommodate a large piece of meat. Though she froze at a look from Lawrence, her devout smile was displayed only after she had filled her mouth with venison.
"Holo here is serving Miss Fran by the order of the bishop, and as the boy Col was born in the north, he's acting as our guide. And my unworthy self is acting as our little group's eyes and ears." Lawrence cleared his throat and continued. "So, we're hoping to hear more. And..." He leaned forward as though about to ask a favor. "If possible, we'd like to be taken to the place where the legend is said to have transpired."
Vino stuck his knife into a slice of meat and ate it raw. Perhaps such eating habits were not rare in cold climes, for Col was unsurprised. Strangely it was Holo who seemed the most taken aback.
"Aye, I don't mind doing that, but..."
Places of story and legend were often important to villagers. Lawrence had anticipated it being a point of contention even if he convinced them, but things were proceeding surprisingly smooth.
As he agreed, Vino's face was, if anything, worried rather than unwilling. He continued, "I wonder if it will be all right, though. I saw your provisions when you arrived—do you plan on staying the night in the witch's forest?"
"The witch's...forest?"
"That's the source of all the strange rumors about our village here. You've heard about the witch, haven't you?"
Perhaps remembering Mueller's warnings, Vino was only drinking small sips of the tart wine he had poured his guests, and he filled the cup in his hand with an irritated expression.
If there was a time to feign ignorance, this was it. "As far as that goes, we'd only heard that there were rumors..."
"Mm, is that so? Maybe the stories they tell in town are finally calming down. Anyway, it's not a complicated tale. If you want to go to the witch's forest, I can lead you right there. It's not far."
Lawrence met Fran's eyes and saw her slight nod. "If it's no trouble, then the sooner the better."
"Ha-ha-ha, trouble? Thanks to you lot coming, I've gotten to eat venison and drink wine and call it work! I suppose merchants and nuns don't do it often, but butchering a deer is hard work!"
The meat, skin, bones, and organs had to be separated and dealt with, each in their own way. Meat was preserved, skin was tanned before it rotted, and organs were boiled or made into sausage. Bones could become cooking implements, arrowheads, or trinkets while tendons could be made into tough, sturdy strings and ties.


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

Input:
"It's delicious."
It was such a standard phrase, but Vino and his wife smiled, pleased.
"The deer was butchered just this morning. You're quite lucky."
"It's true, meat this good is hard to come by in towns."
The key to being liked by villagers was to eat and drink well. Holo immediately asked for seconds, and Vino's eyes went round as he laughed heartily.
"So, you're here for the legend of the angel? You'd come all the way out here just for that?" Vino adjusted the logs in the hearth, causing sparks to go flying up toward the roof. The risk of fire made such actions unthinkable in a town, but here if the house burned, they could simply build another one, and there was little danger that the fire would spread to nearby buildings.
"Yes. Though we heard the broad strokes of it back in town." Lawrence set his bowl down before wiping his mouth and gesturing to Fran. "Circumstances led to my becoming a guide for Miss Fran here, and she simply must learn more about the legend."
"I see...But why would a nun wish to know such a thing?"
"While Miss Fran is a nun who's pledged service to her holy order, she's also an exceptional silversmith. The bishop has charged her to make a silver statue in the image of the angel."
"I see..." Vino gave a hesitant smile as he regarded Fran. Fran averted her eyes as though used to this sort of treatment. In doing so, she did seem quite the godly nun.
By contrast, Holo opened her mouth wide, the better to accommodate a large piece of meat. Though she froze at a look from Lawrence, her devout smile was displayed only after she had filled her mouth with venison.
"Holo here is serving Miss Fran by the order of the bishop, and as the boy Col was born in the north, he's acting as our guide. And my unworthy self is acting as our little group's eyes and ears." Lawrence cleared his throat and continued. "So, we're hoping to hear more. And..." He leaned forward as though about to ask a favor. "If possible, we'd like to be taken to the place where the legend is said to have transpired."
Vino stuck his knife into a slice of meat and ate it raw. Perhaps such eating habits were not rare in cold climes, for Col was unsurprised. Strangely it was Holo who seemed the most taken aback.
"Aye, I don't mind doing that, but..."
Places of story and legend were often important to villagers. Lawrence had anticipated it being a point of contention even if he convinced them, but things were proceeding surprisingly smooth.
As he agreed, Vino's face was, if anything, worried rather than unwilling. He continued, "I wonder if it will be all right, though. I saw your provisions when you arrived—do you plan on staying the night in the witch's forest?"
"The witch's...forest?"
"That's the source of all the strange rumors about our village here. You've heard about the witch, haven't you?"
Perhaps remembering Mueller's warnings, Vino was only drinking small sips of the tart wine he had poured his guests, and he filled the cup in his hand with an irritated expression.
If there was a time to feign ignorance, this was it. "As far as that goes, we'd only heard that there were rumors..."
"Mm, is that so? Maybe the stories they tell in town are finally calming down. Anyway, it's not a complicated tale. If you want to go to the witch's forest, I can lead you right there. It's not far."
Lawrence met Fran's eyes and saw her slight nod. "If it's no trouble, then the sooner the better."
"Ha-ha-ha, trouble? Thanks to you lot coming, I've gotten to eat venison and drink wine and call it work! I suppose merchants and nuns don't do it often, but butchering a deer is hard work!"
The meat, skin, bones, and organs had to be separated and dealt with, each in their own way. Meat was preserved, skin was tanned before it rotted, and organs were boiled or made into sausage. Bones could become cooking implements, arrowheads, or trinkets while tendons could be made into tough, sturdy strings and ties.

Output:
Vino took a drink of wine. "Now, then. I suppose I'll need to tell you the legend of the angel before we go. It'll be no good if I wind up telling you the tale in the middle of the witch's forest," he said with a grin.
For all that the villagers avoided the witch's forest, they did not seem to do so in a particularly exaggerated fashion. They seemed to simply acknowledge it as an unlucky place.
"So how much do you all know?"
"That by a forest lake near this village, a beast howled as a door to heaven opened; then an angel flew up into it...roughly."
Vino was ladling more stew into his bowl as Lawrence spoke and wordlessly asked Holo and Col if they wanted another serving. Fran had quietly sipped the broth, leaving even the vegetables in her bowl untouched.
"That's about the size of it. The 'forest' in this case runs along a river that flows from the lake. This happened back when the village elder was a boy, during a cold, cold winter."
Vino filled Holo's and Col's bowls back up and gave a sort of downcast smile, as though embarrassed to be relating a story like this.
"On one windy day, it was so cold that people's ears seemed about to freeze solid and be blown away. The village hunters had been trapped in the forest for three or four days, thanks to a sudden blizzard. Fortunately there was a small charcoal-making cottage beside the waterfall that flowed from the lake. The night the snow finally stopped falling, the skies cleared until there wasn't a cloud to be seen, and the moon shined so brightly they say it was like the sun. The wind still blew fiercely, howling terribly through the forest, but the hunters had been up in the cottage for days, and they all wanted to breathe some of the outside air. They gathered their strength and went out, and just then—"
Everyone was listening intently. A log crackled faintly in the fire.
"—They heard a low, long howl. Ooooo...ooooo...it went, and they were all terribly afraid. There were spirits in the forests and mountains, they remembered, and so they decided to go back into the charcoal cottage. But the moment they tried to do so, the howl stopped. And then they looked toward the lake."
Vino's eyes glanced up at the ceiling, as though to evoke the hunters' gazes at the waterfall.
"And then in that moment they saw a silver, shining angel of pure white, a pair of wings on its back. From the bottom of the waterfall, it beat those wings, flying up through golden doors that had opened in the heavens."
His gaze finally fell, and he put his wine cup to his lips and seemed quite clearly embarrassed. No doubt he enjoyed this particular tale.
"Or so the story goes. It's been passed down as the legend of the angel ever since."
"I see..." Lawrence felt as though he could still see the angel flying up to the heavens on that moonlit night. Myths and superstitions were always extraordinary things. But because they still had a strange ring of reality to them, they were nonetheless passed down over the generations.
"But nobody's seen an angel since. I hear the story once reached town and our village was quite lively for a while, but lately all it's good for is making children happy." Vino's eyes narrowed in a self-deprecating smile.
"So, Mr. Vino, do you..."
"Hmm?"
"Do you think it's just a legend, too?" It was an unfair question to ask, but Lawrence asked it anyway.
"Well...Who knows, eh?" Unsurprisingly, Vino looked down at his hands, smiling bashfully. It seemed as though he wanted to believe, but was unable to quite bring himself to do so.
"As for us, we'd like to believe it."