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

Input:
He'd been scanning a fairly small area, so his eyes were bound to notice the detail eventually.
Amati had entered his field of vision, which caused Lawrence to make a noise of confusion and surprise.
Amati's right hand was pressed up against his chest, probably holding a bag of coin and pyrite.
The problem was not in what he was doing, but rather the expression of concern on his face and the way that he looked here and there, searching for something—just like Lawrence.
Lawrence suspected Amati of putting on some kind of act.
But then by some miracle, the crowd between them thinned, and Amati noticed Lawrence. He was clearly surprised to see his rival.
And then Lawrence glimpsed a look of relief on Amati's face. Though the crowd quickly closed in around them and blocked Lawrence's view again, there was no mistaking what he had seen.
A single thought jumped out at Lawrence.
Amati—like him—was looking for Holo. Not only that, Amati had been relieved to see that Holo wasn't with Lawrence.
Lawrence felt a thump, as though someone's shoulder had bumped into him from behind.
He turned to see one mercantile-looking fellow talking excitedly with another.
That's odd, he said to himself, whereupon he felt the same thump reverberate from his back to his chest.
Then he realized.
It was the pounding of his heart.
Amati had been frantically looking for Holo and was obviously very worried that she would be with Lawrence.
The young merchant did not trust her fully.
Which in turn suggested that there was a reason for his doubt.
But what was it?
"It couldn't be—," said Lawrence.
If Amati was looking for her, that meant she had not told him where she was going.
And if that alone was enough to cause Amati stress, it was very unlikely she had revealed her ears and tail to him.
It was enough to make Lawrence want to abandon the dark, dismal conclusions he'd come to only a moment ago and turn to brighter assumptions.
He had no confidence in his ability to tell whether or not this was wishful thinking, however.
It was vexing enough to make him nauseous.
Suddenly there was another cry from the crowd.
Lawrence looked hastily toward the stone seller's stall and saw that somewhere along the line, the placard for the highest-value pyrite had been removed.
Which meant that it had sold at that price.
And that wasn't even the reason for the shouts.
The placards marking the highest values for various types of pyrite had all been taken down, and there was a drop in the number of plates for buyers in line.
Someone had sold off a considerable amount.
Lawrence fought back the nausea that rose and looked about frantically, trying to spot Amati.
He was not in front of the stall.
He wasn't even near it.
When Lawrence finally spotted him, Amati was in the crowd.
He was watching the stall with a shocked expression.
So it hadn't been Amati who had made the large sale.
Lawrence felt but a fleeting moment of relief before more placards for waiting buyers went up, along with a new round of cries from the crowd.
Nearly everyone here had at least a small amount of pyrite; they were waiting for just the right moment to buy or sell. The market was starting to fluctuate, which would become another factor for them to consider.
Essentially, now was the right time to sell.
Lawrence was on the verge of giving up—but pushing him in the opposite direction was the thought that he could still accomplish something with his plan of carefully selling off a large amount.
But he soon thought better of it, like some kind of cowardly hare.
Lawrence had no idea what Holo was thinking or where she had gone. People's hearts were not so easily understood. To think otherwise was to invite ruin.
And yet—Lawrence could not help thinking.
Expectation, suspicion, supposition, and reality were four hooks that tore at Lawrence's thoughts.
What would Holo the Wisewolf say at a time like this?
Pathetically, Lawrence couldn't help but wonder.

Output:
He trusted her.
Just then—
"Um, excuse me—"
Lawrence felt a tug on his sleeve as the words reached his ears.
He whirled as if struck, expecting to see a certain cheeky girl behind him.
But it was a boy—Landt, to be precise.
"Um, Mr. Lawrence, may I have a moment?"
Lawrence turned with such speed that Landt was taken aback for a moment, but the boy's expression made it clear that there was urgent business.
Anxiety swept over Lawrence as he looked around; then he knelt down to bring his face closer to the much shorter Landt and nodded.
"A customer has come to our shop wishing to pay for wheat in pyrite."
Lawrence understood immediately. Mark was willing to take the offer and then sell Lawrence that pyrite, assuming Lawrence could pay cash.
"How much?"
If Mark had sent the boy all the way over here, it had to be a sizable amount.
Lawrence swallowed and waited for the reply.
"Two hundred fifty silver," said Landt.
Lawrence clenched his teeth to avoid shouting out at the unexpected development.
The wolf-god of the harvest might have abandoned him, but the goddess of fortune was still on his side.
Lawrence immediately pushed the small bag he'd gotten from Amati into Landt's hands. "Go, as fast as you can."
Landt nodded, and then tore off like an envoy carrying a vital message.
Meanwhile, the market continued to fluctuate.
Perhaps indicating that the price had topped out, the number of buyers on the line placards had changed shockingly fast.
It was clear that the buyers and sellers were beginning to turn completely against one another.
With the price this high, some would start to sell while those who needed the price to go still higher would buy.
Occasionally Lawrence would catch sight of Amati at the other side of the crowd; he had no doubt that Amati was watching him, as well.
The fact that Amati kept such a close eye on both the stone seller's stall and Lawrence suggested that he hadn't yet raised the thousand coins he needed.
No, that's not it—Lawrence corrected himself.
He might already have raised the money but was worried that if he sold off the pyrite he had on hand, trading might go awry and cause the price to crash before he could sell his entire stock.
And because Amati was party to Lawrence's margin-selling contract, a crash in price would hit him with a huge loss.
There was one other important fact, as well.
The five hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite that Amati held still only existed in the form of a paper contract.
It could be bought or sold, yes, but the physical pyrite the contract represented could not be collected until that evening.
The market had started to fluctuate instead of simply rise, and the possibility of a drop was now much more real. If Amati was to sell the certificate, what would happen?
Margin transactions involved an interval of time between the exchange of money and goods.
In an environment where a drop in price was anticipated, a margin sale certificate—which promised future goods for immediate cash—was a joker, a worthless card with a grinning witch on it.
Once the market value of a product actually dropped, whoever held this joker would be ruined.
The slow-acting poison of Lawrence's margin sale was beginning to take effect.
Amati was still glancing this way and that, desperate.
He was obviously looking for Holo.
Holo had probably guessed what Lawrence was up to and told Amati of the trap.
The winds seemed about to change; offense and defense were reversing themselves.
If Lawrence did not strike, he would be letting a once-in-a-millennium chance go by.
People nearly attacked the stone seller's stall, and the price placards were swapped out one after another.
Lawrence held tightly to the pyrite in his breast pocket, desperately hoping Landt would return soon.
It did not take too much time to run to Mark's stall and back.
Just then—
A voice echoed across the crowd. "A purchase is in!"
Someone had been unable to contain their excitement.


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

Input:
He trusted her.
Just then—
"Um, excuse me—"
Lawrence felt a tug on his sleeve as the words reached his ears.
He whirled as if struck, expecting to see a certain cheeky girl behind him.
But it was a boy—Landt, to be precise.
"Um, Mr. Lawrence, may I have a moment?"
Lawrence turned with such speed that Landt was taken aback for a moment, but the boy's expression made it clear that there was urgent business.
Anxiety swept over Lawrence as he looked around; then he knelt down to bring his face closer to the much shorter Landt and nodded.
"A customer has come to our shop wishing to pay for wheat in pyrite."
Lawrence understood immediately. Mark was willing to take the offer and then sell Lawrence that pyrite, assuming Lawrence could pay cash.
"How much?"
If Mark had sent the boy all the way over here, it had to be a sizable amount.
Lawrence swallowed and waited for the reply.
"Two hundred fifty silver," said Landt.
Lawrence clenched his teeth to avoid shouting out at the unexpected development.
The wolf-god of the harvest might have abandoned him, but the goddess of fortune was still on his side.
Lawrence immediately pushed the small bag he'd gotten from Amati into Landt's hands. "Go, as fast as you can."
Landt nodded, and then tore off like an envoy carrying a vital message.
Meanwhile, the market continued to fluctuate.
Perhaps indicating that the price had topped out, the number of buyers on the line placards had changed shockingly fast.
It was clear that the buyers and sellers were beginning to turn completely against one another.
With the price this high, some would start to sell while those who needed the price to go still higher would buy.
Occasionally Lawrence would catch sight of Amati at the other side of the crowd; he had no doubt that Amati was watching him, as well.
The fact that Amati kept such a close eye on both the stone seller's stall and Lawrence suggested that he hadn't yet raised the thousand coins he needed.
No, that's not it—Lawrence corrected himself.
He might already have raised the money but was worried that if he sold off the pyrite he had on hand, trading might go awry and cause the price to crash before he could sell his entire stock.
And because Amati was party to Lawrence's margin-selling contract, a crash in price would hit him with a huge loss.
There was one other important fact, as well.
The five hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite that Amati held still only existed in the form of a paper contract.
It could be bought or sold, yes, but the physical pyrite the contract represented could not be collected until that evening.
The market had started to fluctuate instead of simply rise, and the possibility of a drop was now much more real. If Amati was to sell the certificate, what would happen?
Margin transactions involved an interval of time between the exchange of money and goods.
In an environment where a drop in price was anticipated, a margin sale certificate—which promised future goods for immediate cash—was a joker, a worthless card with a grinning witch on it.
Once the market value of a product actually dropped, whoever held this joker would be ruined.
The slow-acting poison of Lawrence's margin sale was beginning to take effect.
Amati was still glancing this way and that, desperate.
He was obviously looking for Holo.
Holo had probably guessed what Lawrence was up to and told Amati of the trap.
The winds seemed about to change; offense and defense were reversing themselves.
If Lawrence did not strike, he would be letting a once-in-a-millennium chance go by.
People nearly attacked the stone seller's stall, and the price placards were swapped out one after another.
Lawrence held tightly to the pyrite in his breast pocket, desperately hoping Landt would return soon.
It did not take too much time to run to Mark's stall and back.
Just then—
A voice echoed across the crowd. "A purchase is in!"
Someone had been unable to contain their excitement.

Output:
Someone had purchased a large amount of pyrite. This suggested that the price would continue to rise.
Buoyed by the expectation, the crowd seemed to settle down.
Landt had yet to return.
The more time passed, the more the market seemed to steady itself.
But the number of possible buyers was dropping—Lawrence could take this opportunity to sell off a quantity of pyrite and sweep away this stability.
If he did that, he might be able to clear out the buying line even if it was just for a brief amount of time.
Doing so at this precise moment would surely have a profound effect.
Lawrence made his move.
He slipped between the crowds, pulling the bag of pyrite from his breast pocket as he arrived before the stone seller's booth.
"I'm here to sell!"
As everybody watched, Lawrence threw the bag of pyrite down in front of the stone seller.
The stone seller and his apprentices were stunned for a moment, but they quickly came to their senses and resumed business.
Lawrence had tossed a stone into a quiet lake; now came the rippling effect.
The measuring was done quickly, whereupon the apprentices that held line placards took the pyrite pieces off to the various buyers who had ordered them.
Lawrence immediately received his payment.
Without bothering to count, he grabbed the bag of coins tightly and looked back out into the crowd.
He caught a glimpse of Amati's stricken face.
Lawrence felt neither vindication nor pity.
His sole concern was his own goal.
He had sold all of the pyrite he had on hand. Any further attacks would have to wait until he had more.
Where was Landt? Where was Diana's messenger?
If he had the four hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite he was expecting from Diana, there was no question he would be able to turn the marketplace around.
He was at the crossroads of destiny.
And then he heard a voice.
"Mr. Lawrence."
It was Landt, his forehead shiny with sweat as he ran up to Lawrence and offered him another bag.
It was 250 silver pieces' worth of pyrite.
Lawrence was torn between returning immediately to the stone seller's stall to sell the pyrite he now had on hand or waiting for Diana's messenger to come so he could be sure.
He cursed himself.
Had he not even now given up on Diana?
The negotiations had dragged on for so long. There was a limit to how optimistic Lawrence could afford to be.
He had to take his chances.
Lawrence turned and prepared to venture forth again.
There was a loud cheer that froze him in his tracks.
"Ooooh!"
The crowd blocked his view; he couldn't see what was happening.
But the instant the cheer rose, Lawrence's intuition almost compelled him to cry out and run—it told him the worst had happened.
He pushed his way back through the crowd to a place where he could see the price board.
It was admirable indeed that he didn't fall to his knees on the spot.
The top price on the board had been renewed.
Demand had pushed it back up.
It seemed some of the market buyers had decided that the disturbance a moment ago was a temporary fluctuation, and they had put in a wave of purchase orders.
Purchase line placards were put back on the board.
Lawrence suppressed the urge to vomit. The decision of whether or not to sell the pyrite he had again pressed in on him.
There was still some small chance of success if he took quick action.
No—the wise decision would be to wait for Diana's messenger.
The amount of pyrite he was negotiating for with her was worth four hundred pieces of silver then—it might well be as high as five hundred by now.
If Lawrence could add that to what he already had, it would be enough for another big sell-off.
As Lawrence was placing all his hopes in that small chance, he saw Amati, now looking much more at ease, walk away from the stall.
The young merchant was planning to sell.
It was unclear whether or not he was going to sell all he had, though.


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

Input:
Someone had purchased a large amount of pyrite. This suggested that the price would continue to rise.
Buoyed by the expectation, the crowd seemed to settle down.
Landt had yet to return.
The more time passed, the more the market seemed to steady itself.
But the number of possible buyers was dropping—Lawrence could take this opportunity to sell off a quantity of pyrite and sweep away this stability.
If he did that, he might be able to clear out the buying line even if it was just for a brief amount of time.
Doing so at this precise moment would surely have a profound effect.
Lawrence made his move.
He slipped between the crowds, pulling the bag of pyrite from his breast pocket as he arrived before the stone seller's booth.
"I'm here to sell!"
As everybody watched, Lawrence threw the bag of pyrite down in front of the stone seller.
The stone seller and his apprentices were stunned for a moment, but they quickly came to their senses and resumed business.
Lawrence had tossed a stone into a quiet lake; now came the rippling effect.
The measuring was done quickly, whereupon the apprentices that held line placards took the pyrite pieces off to the various buyers who had ordered them.
Lawrence immediately received his payment.
Without bothering to count, he grabbed the bag of coins tightly and looked back out into the crowd.
He caught a glimpse of Amati's stricken face.
Lawrence felt neither vindication nor pity.
His sole concern was his own goal.
He had sold all of the pyrite he had on hand. Any further attacks would have to wait until he had more.
Where was Landt? Where was Diana's messenger?
If he had the four hundred silver pieces' worth of pyrite he was expecting from Diana, there was no question he would be able to turn the marketplace around.
He was at the crossroads of destiny.
And then he heard a voice.
"Mr. Lawrence."
It was Landt, his forehead shiny with sweat as he ran up to Lawrence and offered him another bag.
It was 250 silver pieces' worth of pyrite.
Lawrence was torn between returning immediately to the stone seller's stall to sell the pyrite he now had on hand or waiting for Diana's messenger to come so he could be sure.
He cursed himself.
Had he not even now given up on Diana?
The negotiations had dragged on for so long. There was a limit to how optimistic Lawrence could afford to be.
He had to take his chances.
Lawrence turned and prepared to venture forth again.
There was a loud cheer that froze him in his tracks.
"Ooooh!"
The crowd blocked his view; he couldn't see what was happening.
But the instant the cheer rose, Lawrence's intuition almost compelled him to cry out and run—it told him the worst had happened.
He pushed his way back through the crowd to a place where he could see the price board.
It was admirable indeed that he didn't fall to his knees on the spot.
The top price on the board had been renewed.
Demand had pushed it back up.
It seemed some of the market buyers had decided that the disturbance a moment ago was a temporary fluctuation, and they had put in a wave of purchase orders.
Purchase line placards were put back on the board.
Lawrence suppressed the urge to vomit. The decision of whether or not to sell the pyrite he had again pressed in on him.
There was still some small chance of success if he took quick action.
No—the wise decision would be to wait for Diana's messenger.
The amount of pyrite he was negotiating for with her was worth four hundred pieces of silver then—it might well be as high as five hundred by now.
If Lawrence could add that to what he already had, it would be enough for another big sell-off.
As Lawrence was placing all his hopes in that small chance, he saw Amati, now looking much more at ease, walk away from the stall.
The young merchant was planning to sell.
It was unclear whether or not he was going to sell all he had, though.

Output:
Why had Diana's messenger not come? Lawrence wondered if he had finally been abandoned by the gods.
In his mind, he screamed.
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Lawrence?"
In his despair, Lawrence thought he'd heard wrong.
"Mr. Lawrence, I presume?"
A small figure stood beside Lawrence, his face—or possibly her face as it was impossible to tell the sex of the person—hidden behind a shroud that covered all but the eyes.
It clearly was not Landt.
Which meant it was the person Lawrence had been waiting for.
"I have a message from Miss Diana."
The messenger's pale green eyes had a tranquillity completely unlike the swirling commotion that surrounded them.
There was a mysterious aura about the messenger; Lawrence couldn't help but feel this person was truly a messenger from the gods.
And if so—perhaps a miracle was about to happen.
"She wishes to tell you that the negotiations have failed."
A moment passed.
"What?"
"The other party is unwilling to sell. Miss Diana apologizes for being unable to live up to your expectations," said the messenger in a clear voice, as if announcing a death.
Was this—was this how it would be, then? Lawrence wondered.
True despair did not come from hopelessness.
No, when his last tiny speck of hope was crushed at the last moment—that was despair.
Lawrence could not reply.
The messenger seemed to understand this and turned around silently.
Somehow the messenger's form receding into the crowd became conflated in Lawrence's mind with the memory of Holo, as she'd walked away from him in the tunnels under Pazzio.
Lawrence felt like an ancient knight in rusted armor as he looked up at the price board again.
The purchase line had returned to normal, and the price continued to climb.
One could ride the changes of the market, but only the gods could control them.
Lawrence remembered the words of a famous merchant.
With just a bit more luck—just a bit more—a merchant can be a god.
Having exchanged some amount of his pyrite for coin, Amati strolled away from the stall and returned to the outer ring.
Lawrence expected the young merchant to flash him a cocky, triumphant grin, but Amati did not so much as glance at Lawrence.
There must be someone else commanding his attention.
Holo had returned to Amati's side.
"Mr. Lawrence...?"
It was Landt that now spoke to Lawrence; Holo was speaking to Amati and looked nowhere else.
"Oh, er, sorry...You've...you've done a lot of running around for me. Thanks."
"Oh no, not at all."
"Could you give Mark a message for me? Tell him my plan has failed," said Lawrence, surprised at how easy it was to say.
Yet despite the "failure," from the standpoint of a merchant it was a very nice outcome.
Lawrence still had some pyrite on hand. All he needed to do was buy a bit more to have what he needed to hand over to Amati in the evening and then subtract the cost of that from the money he'd made selling the previous lot of pyrite—the amount left over would probably be positive.
On top of that, he would be receiving one thousand silver coins from Amati, which could not be called anything less than a huge windfall.
Such profit would have been enough to make any merchant happy, but Lawrence felt only a vast emptiness.
Landt was momentarily at a loss as he looked about, but just as Lawrence was about to hand over his compensation, the boy's eyes filled with a steely resolve.
"Mr. Lawrence."
Landt's expression was enough to stop Lawrence's hand, which held a few silver coins.
"Are—are you giving up?"
Lawrence remembered his days as an apprentice—any time he wanted to make a comment, he had to be ready for a beating.
Landt was likewise prepared to be struck. His left eye twitched as if he expected a fist to come at him at any moment.
"My master always tells me that merchants never give up."
Lawrence pulled his hand away, and Landt's shoulder twitched in response.
But the boy did not look away.
He was entirely serious.


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

Input:
Why had Diana's messenger not come? Lawrence wondered if he had finally been abandoned by the gods.
In his mind, he screamed.
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Lawrence?"
In his despair, Lawrence thought he'd heard wrong.
"Mr. Lawrence, I presume?"
A small figure stood beside Lawrence, his face—or possibly her face as it was impossible to tell the sex of the person—hidden behind a shroud that covered all but the eyes.
It clearly was not Landt.
Which meant it was the person Lawrence had been waiting for.
"I have a message from Miss Diana."
The messenger's pale green eyes had a tranquillity completely unlike the swirling commotion that surrounded them.
There was a mysterious aura about the messenger; Lawrence couldn't help but feel this person was truly a messenger from the gods.
And if so—perhaps a miracle was about to happen.
"She wishes to tell you that the negotiations have failed."
A moment passed.
"What?"
"The other party is unwilling to sell. Miss Diana apologizes for being unable to live up to your expectations," said the messenger in a clear voice, as if announcing a death.
Was this—was this how it would be, then? Lawrence wondered.
True despair did not come from hopelessness.
No, when his last tiny speck of hope was crushed at the last moment—that was despair.
Lawrence could not reply.
The messenger seemed to understand this and turned around silently.
Somehow the messenger's form receding into the crowd became conflated in Lawrence's mind with the memory of Holo, as she'd walked away from him in the tunnels under Pazzio.
Lawrence felt like an ancient knight in rusted armor as he looked up at the price board again.
The purchase line had returned to normal, and the price continued to climb.
One could ride the changes of the market, but only the gods could control them.
Lawrence remembered the words of a famous merchant.
With just a bit more luck—just a bit more—a merchant can be a god.
Having exchanged some amount of his pyrite for coin, Amati strolled away from the stall and returned to the outer ring.
Lawrence expected the young merchant to flash him a cocky, triumphant grin, but Amati did not so much as glance at Lawrence.
There must be someone else commanding his attention.
Holo had returned to Amati's side.
"Mr. Lawrence...?"
It was Landt that now spoke to Lawrence; Holo was speaking to Amati and looked nowhere else.
"Oh, er, sorry...You've...you've done a lot of running around for me. Thanks."
"Oh no, not at all."
"Could you give Mark a message for me? Tell him my plan has failed," said Lawrence, surprised at how easy it was to say.
Yet despite the "failure," from the standpoint of a merchant it was a very nice outcome.
Lawrence still had some pyrite on hand. All he needed to do was buy a bit more to have what he needed to hand over to Amati in the evening and then subtract the cost of that from the money he'd made selling the previous lot of pyrite—the amount left over would probably be positive.
On top of that, he would be receiving one thousand silver coins from Amati, which could not be called anything less than a huge windfall.
Such profit would have been enough to make any merchant happy, but Lawrence felt only a vast emptiness.
Landt was momentarily at a loss as he looked about, but just as Lawrence was about to hand over his compensation, the boy's eyes filled with a steely resolve.
"Mr. Lawrence."
Landt's expression was enough to stop Lawrence's hand, which held a few silver coins.
"Are—are you giving up?"
Lawrence remembered his days as an apprentice—any time he wanted to make a comment, he had to be ready for a beating.
Landt was likewise prepared to be struck. His left eye twitched as if he expected a fist to come at him at any moment.
"My master always tells me that merchants never give up."
Lawrence pulled his hand away, and Landt's shoulder twitched in response.
But the boy did not look away.
He was entirely serious.

Output:
Lawrence did not disagree.
But what he was after was not wealth.
"Mr. Lawrence." Landt's gaze pierced him.
Lawrence glanced over at Holo for a moment before looking back to Landt.
"I..." began Landt. "I liked H-Holo from the first time I saw her. But my master told me—," said the faithful apprentice. He wordlessly completed every task given to him, yet now Landt was every inch a young boy. "He said that if I said that in front of you, I'd get a sound beating."
Landt was on the verge of tears as Lawrence raised his hand up high.
"—!" Landt gasped and flinched.
But with his fist, Lawrence only tapped the boy lightly on his cheek, smiling. "Yes, I suppose I should give you a beating. A sound one, too," he said with a chuckle—though he wanted to cry.
Landt seemed roughly ten years younger than Lawrence.
Yet with things the way they were, he felt no different than the boy.
Damn, he cursed himself.
It seemed that before Holo, any man would turn into a runny-nosed lad.
Lawrence shook his head.
The stubborn ones who never give in, eh?
It was a laughable phrase, and he sighed at its seductive charm, looking up at the sky.
The words of a boy ten years his junior had wiped from his mind the maelstrom of supposition and doubt.
Landt was right.
He'd gotten this far, and the profit that remained in his hands was only proof of his true loss—he could lose it without regret.
There was no reason not to think everything through one last time before taking action.
Things of value did not always come with hard effort.
Mark had only a short while ago made him realize that.
Lawrence opened the spigot on his considerable memory, pulling out the materials he needed to construct a new approach.
The pillar of his new plan was something he'd forgotten until just a moment ago.
"The ones who just can't give up—they're the same ones who just can't stop themselves from being so optimistic you wouldn't believe it," said Lawrence.
Landt's happy expression was even more appealing than the boy's normal, overachieving nature usually tended to be.
There was little doubt that Mark treasured the lad as he would his own child.
"A merchant makes plans, predicts the outcome, and always holds the results up to the light of reality. Understand?"
Landt nodded politely at what appeared to be an unconnected statement.
"If selling one item causes something to change thus, another item will cause it to change so. Such hypotheses are also important, you see."
Landt nodded again. Lawrence knelt down so he was close to the boy's face and spoke.
"But if I'm honest, these hypotheses can be anything you might like them to be. If you make too many, you'll become lost, seeing danger and risk in every deal you do. To avoid that, you need some kind of guidepost—something to believe. It's the one thing every merchant needs."
The young Landt looked something like a real merchant as he nodded. "I see," he said.
"If you can believe in that guidepost, then no matter how absurd the idea it leads you to..."
Lawrence looked up, closing his eyes.
"...You can trust it."
Even so, a voice in Lawrence's head told him it was impossible.
And yet when he looked at Holo, he was almost convinced.
There was a chance—a small chance—that Holo's choice of dress said something.
Despite the idea's outlandishness, if he was to put it to the test, it might well prove to be true.
But this idea required that one condition had to be met.
It was what Lawrence had forgotten earlier—namely, the possibility that Holo had in fact not abandoned him.
Considering this now was just the kind of thing a stubbornly optimistic merchant, who never gave up, would do.
At this stage of the game, it seemed far better to think as much than to continue trying to stop Amati—it was enough to make Lawrence think he was in some kind of fantastic dream.
He had no idea what Landt had heard from Mark that made the boy so willing to help him.
In any case, it was clear that Landt told the truth when he said he liked Holo.


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

Input:
Lawrence did not disagree.
But what he was after was not wealth.
"Mr. Lawrence." Landt's gaze pierced him.
Lawrence glanced over at Holo for a moment before looking back to Landt.
"I..." began Landt. "I liked H-Holo from the first time I saw her. But my master told me—," said the faithful apprentice. He wordlessly completed every task given to him, yet now Landt was every inch a young boy. "He said that if I said that in front of you, I'd get a sound beating."
Landt was on the verge of tears as Lawrence raised his hand up high.
"—!" Landt gasped and flinched.
But with his fist, Lawrence only tapped the boy lightly on his cheek, smiling. "Yes, I suppose I should give you a beating. A sound one, too," he said with a chuckle—though he wanted to cry.
Landt seemed roughly ten years younger than Lawrence.
Yet with things the way they were, he felt no different than the boy.
Damn, he cursed himself.
It seemed that before Holo, any man would turn into a runny-nosed lad.
Lawrence shook his head.
The stubborn ones who never give in, eh?
It was a laughable phrase, and he sighed at its seductive charm, looking up at the sky.
The words of a boy ten years his junior had wiped from his mind the maelstrom of supposition and doubt.
Landt was right.
He'd gotten this far, and the profit that remained in his hands was only proof of his true loss—he could lose it without regret.
There was no reason not to think everything through one last time before taking action.
Things of value did not always come with hard effort.
Mark had only a short while ago made him realize that.
Lawrence opened the spigot on his considerable memory, pulling out the materials he needed to construct a new approach.
The pillar of his new plan was something he'd forgotten until just a moment ago.
"The ones who just can't give up—they're the same ones who just can't stop themselves from being so optimistic you wouldn't believe it," said Lawrence.
Landt's happy expression was even more appealing than the boy's normal, overachieving nature usually tended to be.
There was little doubt that Mark treasured the lad as he would his own child.
"A merchant makes plans, predicts the outcome, and always holds the results up to the light of reality. Understand?"
Landt nodded politely at what appeared to be an unconnected statement.
"If selling one item causes something to change thus, another item will cause it to change so. Such hypotheses are also important, you see."
Landt nodded again. Lawrence knelt down so he was close to the boy's face and spoke.
"But if I'm honest, these hypotheses can be anything you might like them to be. If you make too many, you'll become lost, seeing danger and risk in every deal you do. To avoid that, you need some kind of guidepost—something to believe. It's the one thing every merchant needs."
The young Landt looked something like a real merchant as he nodded. "I see," he said.
"If you can believe in that guidepost, then no matter how absurd the idea it leads you to..."
Lawrence looked up, closing his eyes.
"...You can trust it."
Even so, a voice in Lawrence's head told him it was impossible.
And yet when he looked at Holo, he was almost convinced.
There was a chance—a small chance—that Holo's choice of dress said something.
Despite the idea's outlandishness, if he was to put it to the test, it might well prove to be true.
But this idea required that one condition had to be met.
It was what Lawrence had forgotten earlier—namely, the possibility that Holo had in fact not abandoned him.
Considering this now was just the kind of thing a stubbornly optimistic merchant, who never gave up, would do.
At this stage of the game, it seemed far better to think as much than to continue trying to stop Amati—it was enough to make Lawrence think he was in some kind of fantastic dream.
He had no idea what Landt had heard from Mark that made the boy so willing to help him.
In any case, it was clear that Landt told the truth when he said he liked Holo.

Output:
Before a display of such courage, it was the least Lawrence could do to live up to this idea of the fearlessly optimistic merchant.
Lawrence patted Landt on the shoulder, took a deep breath, and spoke. "Once I sell my stones at the stall, start spreading the rumor I asked you to."
Landt's face lit up. He nodded his head, once again the consummate apprentice.
"Good lad."
Lawrence was about to turn around, but he stopped short.
Landt's eyes were full of questions, but Lawrence was the one who asked, "Do you believe in the gods?"
The boy was unsurprisingly dumbstruck.
Lawrence chuckled and repeated himself. "There's a good lad," he said before walking away.
He had 250 silver pieces' worth of pyrite on hand. Tallying up the purchase line markers on the board showed that there was already four hundred silver pieces' worth of orders waiting—even if Lawrence sold all the pyrite he had on hand, it would have no real effect.
But no—it would have an effect. If his new assumption was correct, it had to. He glanced back at Holo for just a moment; she was still standing by Amati.
Just one second would be enough—if Holo would just look in his direction for a moment, that would be enough.
And then—
Lawrence stood in front of the stone seller's stall. The influx of orders had slowed; the shopkeeper, having finally regained a measure of calm, looked at Lawrence with a face that said, "Yes?" He then smiled, an expression that seemed to add, "You're making out pretty well today."
Despite no words being exchanged, Lawrence nodded. He was about to make a lot more.
He thrust the bag of pyrite he'd received from Landt toward the stone seller and spoke. "I'm selling."
The shopkeeper received a cut from each transaction, so he smiled heartily and nodded, but then he looked strangely stunned.
Lawrence closed his eyes and smiled.
He had been right.
"Master, I too shall sell."
The voice actually made Lawrence nostalgic.
With a loud thud, a bag of pyrite at least twice the size of Lawrence's was slammed down on the counter.
Lawrence glanced sideways, and there was Holo, looking ready to bite his head off.
"You fool," she said.
Lawrence's only response to her accusation was a smile and a heartfelt "Sorry."
The shopkeeper stood there, amazed for a while, and then he quickly ordered his apprentices to remove all the purchase line placards from the price board.
The two bags together came to at least 650 silver pieces' worth of pyrite.
The amount Holo had was appraised before the day's bump in price, so it was probably worth even more than that. The mysterious party that had bought pyrite from Diana was, of course, Holo.
Put simply, nearly a thousand silver pieces' worth of pyrite had been sold all at once.
There was no room for demand to push the price up in the face of that.
Lawrence plucked at one of the white feathers affixed to Holo's robe. "She's quite the grown-up beauty, unlike a certain someone I could name," he said.
Holo jabbed Lawrence's side with her fist.
But then her hand remained there.
That was enough, Lawrence thought.
Though behind them a crazed mob pushed and shoved, Lawrence would not take his hand from hers.
He did want to show off to Amati, though.
Lawrence smirked at himself for being so childish.
***
The price crashed in an instant.
There were a few purchases that came in after all the existing purchase orders were filled, but the sale of close to one thousand silver pieces' worth of pyrite tipped the market in favor of selling, and the price soon dived.
The ones who were least fortunate—who held that old maid card in the end—were those who'd been waiting just a bit longer to sell their stock at the highest-possible price.
Even the sharp-eyed merchants who noticed Lawrence and Holo's actions and sold as quickly as they could had taken losses.
Amati's fate went without saying—he had been unable to sell off the margin contract.


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

Input:
Before a display of such courage, it was the least Lawrence could do to live up to this idea of the fearlessly optimistic merchant.
Lawrence patted Landt on the shoulder, took a deep breath, and spoke. "Once I sell my stones at the stall, start spreading the rumor I asked you to."
Landt's face lit up. He nodded his head, once again the consummate apprentice.
"Good lad."
Lawrence was about to turn around, but he stopped short.
Landt's eyes were full of questions, but Lawrence was the one who asked, "Do you believe in the gods?"
The boy was unsurprisingly dumbstruck.
Lawrence chuckled and repeated himself. "There's a good lad," he said before walking away.
He had 250 silver pieces' worth of pyrite on hand. Tallying up the purchase line markers on the board showed that there was already four hundred silver pieces' worth of orders waiting—even if Lawrence sold all the pyrite he had on hand, it would have no real effect.
But no—it would have an effect. If his new assumption was correct, it had to. He glanced back at Holo for just a moment; she was still standing by Amati.
Just one second would be enough—if Holo would just look in his direction for a moment, that would be enough.
And then—
Lawrence stood in front of the stone seller's stall. The influx of orders had slowed; the shopkeeper, having finally regained a measure of calm, looked at Lawrence with a face that said, "Yes?" He then smiled, an expression that seemed to add, "You're making out pretty well today."
Despite no words being exchanged, Lawrence nodded. He was about to make a lot more.
He thrust the bag of pyrite he'd received from Landt toward the stone seller and spoke. "I'm selling."
The shopkeeper received a cut from each transaction, so he smiled heartily and nodded, but then he looked strangely stunned.
Lawrence closed his eyes and smiled.
He had been right.
"Master, I too shall sell."
The voice actually made Lawrence nostalgic.
With a loud thud, a bag of pyrite at least twice the size of Lawrence's was slammed down on the counter.
Lawrence glanced sideways, and there was Holo, looking ready to bite his head off.
"You fool," she said.
Lawrence's only response to her accusation was a smile and a heartfelt "Sorry."
The shopkeeper stood there, amazed for a while, and then he quickly ordered his apprentices to remove all the purchase line placards from the price board.
The two bags together came to at least 650 silver pieces' worth of pyrite.
The amount Holo had was appraised before the day's bump in price, so it was probably worth even more than that. The mysterious party that had bought pyrite from Diana was, of course, Holo.
Put simply, nearly a thousand silver pieces' worth of pyrite had been sold all at once.
There was no room for demand to push the price up in the face of that.
Lawrence plucked at one of the white feathers affixed to Holo's robe. "She's quite the grown-up beauty, unlike a certain someone I could name," he said.
Holo jabbed Lawrence's side with her fist.
But then her hand remained there.
That was enough, Lawrence thought.
Though behind them a crazed mob pushed and shoved, Lawrence would not take his hand from hers.
He did want to show off to Amati, though.
Lawrence smirked at himself for being so childish.
***
The price crashed in an instant.
There were a few purchases that came in after all the existing purchase orders were filled, but the sale of close to one thousand silver pieces' worth of pyrite tipped the market in favor of selling, and the price soon dived.
The ones who were least fortunate—who held that old maid card in the end—were those who'd been waiting just a bit longer to sell their stock at the highest-possible price.
Even the sharp-eyed merchants who noticed Lawrence and Holo's actions and sold as quickly as they could had taken losses.
Amati's fate went without saying—he had been unable to sell off the margin contract.

Output:
No doubt Holo's betrayal came as a far worse shock than the margin certificate he held now turning worthless.
On that point, Lawrence had sympathy for him. Holo clearly had no intention of ever staying with him and had, in fact, separated from him in a particularly cruel way.
Evidently Amati had said something to Holo that she simply could not abide.
Lawrence didn't dare ask Holo what it was for fear of her response, but he still wanted to know, if only so he wouldn't make the same mistake himself.
"So, this contract is over, then?" Holo asked, not even bothering to look up as she groomed her tail. Lawrence had just returned from finishing the contract with Amati and thanking Mark for his trouble.
There was still an edge to Holo's voice and not just because the two had only just finished a battle of wills.
Lawrence, of course, knew the reason.
He set his things down, took a chair, and replied. "It's over, all right. As cleanly as we could ever hope."
It was not a joke.
He had indeed just finalized the contract with Amati, who looked like his spirit had left his body.
In the end, Amati hadn't actually lost money. Against the margin loss he'd taken because of Lawrence, Amati had made a bit more on intermediary sales of pyrite.
Yet Lawrence understood Amati's despair all too well—up until not long ago, he too had felt every bit as low.
In the end, Amati had been unable to meet the conditions of the contract that would've allowed him to propose marriage to Holo, and as for the margin sale of pyrite, that was completed when Lawrence handed over the bag, which was by that time essentially worthless.
He'd been worried about the possibility of Amati losing his temper, so Lawrence had asked the chief of the guild house to act as mediator. "This is your punishment for trying to take another man's woman," the guild master had said to Amati.
Whether or not Holo was in fact "Lawrence's woman," at least the proud Amati had learned a lesson.
As Lawrence briefly explained all this, Holo, who was sitting on the bed, stopped grooming her tail and gave Lawrence an appraising look.
"Surely you do not think that this is all over and done with."
She seemed to be trying to decide just how harsh his punishment should be.
Lawrence understood the mistake he had made.
He stood and raised both hands in a gesture of contrition. "I'm sorry."
Holo was unmoved. "Do you truly know where you went wrong?"
It was a pathetic way for a grown man to be scolded, but Lawrence had no choice but to endure it.
"I know."
Holo's wolf ears pricked up.
"At least...I think I know."
Holo exhaled through her nose and folded her arms in expectant displeasure.
A mere "I'm sorry" was not going to suffice.
Lawrence screwed up his courage and apologized as best he knew how.
"When I started doing things on my own after the contract with Amati, I was being utterly self-centered."
Despite the all-consuming panic he'd felt, not only had all his frantic efforts to stop Amati come to nothing, he had been—just as he said—completely self-centered.
"The point is...my biggest mistake was not trusting you."
Holo looked away, turning only a single ear toward Lawrence.
"I shall hear you out," she seemed to be saying.
Her unpleasant attitude was of course frustrating, but Lawrence had to admit he didn't have a foot to stand on.
He looked up at the ceiling before he continued.
"The feathers you attached to your hood—those were to let me know you'd bought pyrite from Diana."
Holo nodded, irritated.
"Yet when Amati sold his pyrite at the stall, trying to bluff me, I thought it was a trap you'd set for me."
"Wha—," Holo said in a small voice; Lawrence hastily shut his mouth.
He realized he'd said something he shouldn't have said, but it was too late. Holo uncrossed her legs and hung one off the edge of the bed. "What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked.
Holo's chestnut brown eyes shone dully.


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

Input:
No doubt Holo's betrayal came as a far worse shock than the margin certificate he held now turning worthless.
On that point, Lawrence had sympathy for him. Holo clearly had no intention of ever staying with him and had, in fact, separated from him in a particularly cruel way.
Evidently Amati had said something to Holo that she simply could not abide.
Lawrence didn't dare ask Holo what it was for fear of her response, but he still wanted to know, if only so he wouldn't make the same mistake himself.
"So, this contract is over, then?" Holo asked, not even bothering to look up as she groomed her tail. Lawrence had just returned from finishing the contract with Amati and thanking Mark for his trouble.
There was still an edge to Holo's voice and not just because the two had only just finished a battle of wills.
Lawrence, of course, knew the reason.
He set his things down, took a chair, and replied. "It's over, all right. As cleanly as we could ever hope."
It was not a joke.
He had indeed just finalized the contract with Amati, who looked like his spirit had left his body.
In the end, Amati hadn't actually lost money. Against the margin loss he'd taken because of Lawrence, Amati had made a bit more on intermediary sales of pyrite.
Yet Lawrence understood Amati's despair all too well—up until not long ago, he too had felt every bit as low.
In the end, Amati had been unable to meet the conditions of the contract that would've allowed him to propose marriage to Holo, and as for the margin sale of pyrite, that was completed when Lawrence handed over the bag, which was by that time essentially worthless.
He'd been worried about the possibility of Amati losing his temper, so Lawrence had asked the chief of the guild house to act as mediator. "This is your punishment for trying to take another man's woman," the guild master had said to Amati.
Whether or not Holo was in fact "Lawrence's woman," at least the proud Amati had learned a lesson.
As Lawrence briefly explained all this, Holo, who was sitting on the bed, stopped grooming her tail and gave Lawrence an appraising look.
"Surely you do not think that this is all over and done with."
She seemed to be trying to decide just how harsh his punishment should be.
Lawrence understood the mistake he had made.
He stood and raised both hands in a gesture of contrition. "I'm sorry."
Holo was unmoved. "Do you truly know where you went wrong?"
It was a pathetic way for a grown man to be scolded, but Lawrence had no choice but to endure it.
"I know."
Holo's wolf ears pricked up.
"At least...I think I know."
Holo exhaled through her nose and folded her arms in expectant displeasure.
A mere "I'm sorry" was not going to suffice.
Lawrence screwed up his courage and apologized as best he knew how.
"When I started doing things on my own after the contract with Amati, I was being utterly self-centered."
Despite the all-consuming panic he'd felt, not only had all his frantic efforts to stop Amati come to nothing, he had been—just as he said—completely self-centered.
"The point is...my biggest mistake was not trusting you."
Holo looked away, turning only a single ear toward Lawrence.
"I shall hear you out," she seemed to be saying.
Her unpleasant attitude was of course frustrating, but Lawrence had to admit he didn't have a foot to stand on.
He looked up at the ceiling before he continued.
"The feathers you attached to your hood—those were to let me know you'd bought pyrite from Diana."
Holo nodded, irritated.
"Yet when Amati sold his pyrite at the stall, trying to bluff me, I thought it was a trap you'd set for me."
"Wha—," Holo said in a small voice; Lawrence hastily shut his mouth.
He realized he'd said something he shouldn't have said, but it was too late. Holo uncrossed her legs and hung one off the edge of the bed. "What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked.
Holo's chestnut brown eyes shone dully.

Output:
It certainly was, Holo's eyes seemed to say.
Of course, now he understood her intention.
"You wanted to tell me that Amati had fully enough pyrite on hand and that I should move quickly to sell mine off. Right?"
Lawrence had not trusted Holo, but Holo had trusted Lawrence.
That was the crux of the matter.
Holo had made Amati take an action that Lawrence could make no sense of, and for his part, Lawrence had decided it was not just Amati trying to destroy his confidence, but that Holo had also turned hostile and was trying to force him into a trap.
The only part Lawrence had been correct about was in assuming that Holo knew what he planned to do.
If Lawrence had but noticed the white feathers and made eye contact with Holo, she would have sold her pyrite with him right there on the spot.
"Honestly...," muttered Holo.
She gestured with her chin for Lawrence to continue.
"And before that, the fact that you would sign the marriage certificate with Amati, that was..."
It was humiliating, but he had to keep going.
"...It was to make it easy for me to be angry...Wasn't it?"
Holo's ears twitched, and she took a deep breath.
It seemed likely that she was becoming increasingly angrier as the memories came back to her.
She must have been waiting for Lawrence to come running up to the second floor at any moment, marriage certificate in hand.
And yet no matter how long she waited, he had not come—she might have waited until dawn.
Lawrence counted himself lucky that she hadn't torn his throat out.
"Didn't I tell you in Ruvinheigen? Don't be clever and subtle all the time—tell me what you're thinking! If we can just yell at each other, problems get solved a lot faster."
Holo scratched the base of her ears, as though she could not possibly become any angrier.
She'd purposely been unperturbed when Lawrence saw Amati walking out of the inn and even had a marriage certificate ready, all to make Lawrence angry, all to make it easier for him to speak his mind.
And Lawrence had thought she was notifying him of her intentions.
And now that he thought about it, Lawrence realized that the situation there in the inn had been a perfect one—perfect for him to pour out his heart and admit to Holo that he did not want her to accept Amati's proposal.
If he'd only said as much—it would've been enough.
"So I was wrong from the start."
Holo drew in her chin and gave Lawrence a look that went past displeasure right on into resentment.
That was how far wrong he'd gone.
"When...when you lost control because of the business of Yoitsu...that last apology you gave me, that was—"
...I am sorry, she had said that night, her voice hoarse.
"—That was because you'd come to your senses...wasn't it?"
Holo glared at Lawrence. She glared, and her fangs showed.
After her onslaught of verbal abuse, filled with ill intent and distortions, Holo had realized how awful she was being.
Yet she had not continued to be stubborn.
She had apologized immediately with all sincerity.
But Lawrence had only made things worse by taking her apology as the final word that sealed away her heart.
He had been reaching out to her but stopped short.
If he'd managed to say something then, Lawrence thought, he might have been able to salvage the situation.
Holo must have been stunned.
She had truly apologized for the terrible things she said after losing her temper, but instead of accepting the apology, Lawrence had backed out of the room and run.
She was no fool; Holo must have seen that Lawrence misunderstood her.
Yet having realized this, Holo thought that chasing Lawrence down just to explain how he was mistaken would have been ridiculous.
She must have assumed he would realize his mistake much sooner.
Her eyes were now full of anger at Lawrence's failure to see this.


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

Input:
It certainly was, Holo's eyes seemed to say.
Of course, now he understood her intention.
"You wanted to tell me that Amati had fully enough pyrite on hand and that I should move quickly to sell mine off. Right?"
Lawrence had not trusted Holo, but Holo had trusted Lawrence.
That was the crux of the matter.
Holo had made Amati take an action that Lawrence could make no sense of, and for his part, Lawrence had decided it was not just Amati trying to destroy his confidence, but that Holo had also turned hostile and was trying to force him into a trap.
The only part Lawrence had been correct about was in assuming that Holo knew what he planned to do.
If Lawrence had but noticed the white feathers and made eye contact with Holo, she would have sold her pyrite with him right there on the spot.
"Honestly...," muttered Holo.
She gestured with her chin for Lawrence to continue.
"And before that, the fact that you would sign the marriage certificate with Amati, that was..."
It was humiliating, but he had to keep going.
"...It was to make it easy for me to be angry...Wasn't it?"
Holo's ears twitched, and she took a deep breath.
It seemed likely that she was becoming increasingly angrier as the memories came back to her.
She must have been waiting for Lawrence to come running up to the second floor at any moment, marriage certificate in hand.
And yet no matter how long she waited, he had not come—she might have waited until dawn.
Lawrence counted himself lucky that she hadn't torn his throat out.
"Didn't I tell you in Ruvinheigen? Don't be clever and subtle all the time—tell me what you're thinking! If we can just yell at each other, problems get solved a lot faster."
Holo scratched the base of her ears, as though she could not possibly become any angrier.
She'd purposely been unperturbed when Lawrence saw Amati walking out of the inn and even had a marriage certificate ready, all to make Lawrence angry, all to make it easier for him to speak his mind.
And Lawrence had thought she was notifying him of her intentions.
And now that he thought about it, Lawrence realized that the situation there in the inn had been a perfect one—perfect for him to pour out his heart and admit to Holo that he did not want her to accept Amati's proposal.
If he'd only said as much—it would've been enough.
"So I was wrong from the start."
Holo drew in her chin and gave Lawrence a look that went past displeasure right on into resentment.
That was how far wrong he'd gone.
"When...when you lost control because of the business of Yoitsu...that last apology you gave me, that was—"
...I am sorry, she had said that night, her voice hoarse.
"—That was because you'd come to your senses...wasn't it?"
Holo glared at Lawrence. She glared, and her fangs showed.
After her onslaught of verbal abuse, filled with ill intent and distortions, Holo had realized how awful she was being.
Yet she had not continued to be stubborn.
She had apologized immediately with all sincerity.
But Lawrence had only made things worse by taking her apology as the final word that sealed away her heart.
He had been reaching out to her but stopped short.
If he'd managed to say something then, Lawrence thought, he might have been able to salvage the situation.
Holo must have been stunned.
She had truly apologized for the terrible things she said after losing her temper, but instead of accepting the apology, Lawrence had backed out of the room and run.
She was no fool; Holo must have seen that Lawrence misunderstood her.
Yet having realized this, Holo thought that chasing Lawrence down just to explain how he was mistaken would have been ridiculous.
She must have assumed he would realize his mistake much sooner.
Her eyes were now full of anger at Lawrence's failure to see this.

Output:
"I wish to continue traveling with you."
There were only a few steps between the desk and the bed.
Human and wolf, merchant and nonmerchant—separated by only a few steps.
If Lawrence but reached his hand out, it would soon reach her.
"My life has been naught but business from dawn to dusk, and I plan to keep it that way. Just think of me as a little slow when it comes to anything besides business."
Holo's expression turned sulky.
"And yet—I do wish to travel with you."
"Well...what am I to you?"
It was the question he'd been unable to answer.
Now, however, he was completely certain.
"It cannot be explained in words."
Holo's eyes widened, her ears pricked up, and then—
And then she laughed, so frustrated with Lawrence she was fit to cry. "What sort of dried-up old line is that?"
"Ah, but I thought dried jerky was your favorite!"
Holo chuckled, her fangs bared, her mouth very near Lawrence's hand. "I hate it!"
Lawrence felt pain shoot through his palm, but he quietly accepted it as his punishment.
"Though I do have one question for you," said Lawrence finally.
"Oh?" said Holo. She looked up after biting Lawrence's hand with considerable anger.
"How did you know there was pyrite in the alchemists' quarter—wait, no, Amati probably told you. What I want to know is, how did you get Diana to sell it to you? I just can't see it."
Holo looked out the window as if to say, "Oh, that?"
Dusk had arrived, and the second evening's festivities were about to begin.
It seemed that the same giant puppets from the first night were being used, though they were much the worse for wear. Half of the large lupine shapes had lost their heads. The participants' fatigue was obvious, even from a distance, as they tottered along. Some even fell on their bottoms—and not in jest.
Yet the column marched on, pulled forward by the sounds of flutes and drums.
Holo looked back to Lawrence; her eyes beckoned him to join her at the window.
Having no reason to refuse, he did so.
"The boy Amati told me everything he knew, so I was able to make a fair guess at what you were planning. But your plan was, well—I should compliment you."
Holo looked out on the festival as she leaned back into Lawrence.
He was unable to see her expression, but having been complimented, he felt he should accept it as gracefully as he could manage.
"Yes, so—Diana, was it? I went to see her for a different reason truthfully."
"A different reason?"
"I suppose you could call it a favor. I tracked down the location from the scent on the letter. The place stank like the worst hot springs—it was far from enjoyable."
While Lawrence was impressed at Holo's keen sense of smell, he had to admit the alchemists' quarter must have been quite an ordeal for her.
Holo sighed softly and continued, not looking at Lawrence. "So I asked her thus. I asked her if she would not invent a story of Yoitsu still existing and if she would pass it on to you."
Lawrence cocked his head for a moment, confused.
But then he understood.
Had he heard such a tale from Diana, he would surely have found it easier to speak to Holo again.
With that as a trigger, he would've needed nothing more.
"However," continued Holo, her tone suddenly irritated. "That girl just had me explain all the circumstances to her only to turn me down."
"Oh...really?" Lawrence thought back on the words Diana had spoken to him as he left her house: Good luck to you.
Had it been sarcasm?
"It was your fault that I was refused! Consider that, why don't you!"
Lawrence was jolted from his reverie by Holo stomping on his foot—though he did not follow her meaning.
"Honestly...I suffer through the humiliation of explaining everything and am on the very cusp of success, then you show up and make that girl come up with her pointless plan."
He was stunned beyond words—Holo had been there when he'd visited Diana?
"She said it would be good to test your resolve—the gall, acting as if she knows me!"


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

Input:
"I wish to continue traveling with you."
There were only a few steps between the desk and the bed.
Human and wolf, merchant and nonmerchant—separated by only a few steps.
If Lawrence but reached his hand out, it would soon reach her.
"My life has been naught but business from dawn to dusk, and I plan to keep it that way. Just think of me as a little slow when it comes to anything besides business."
Holo's expression turned sulky.
"And yet—I do wish to travel with you."
"Well...what am I to you?"
It was the question he'd been unable to answer.
Now, however, he was completely certain.
"It cannot be explained in words."
Holo's eyes widened, her ears pricked up, and then—
And then she laughed, so frustrated with Lawrence she was fit to cry. "What sort of dried-up old line is that?"
"Ah, but I thought dried jerky was your favorite!"
Holo chuckled, her fangs bared, her mouth very near Lawrence's hand. "I hate it!"
Lawrence felt pain shoot through his palm, but he quietly accepted it as his punishment.
"Though I do have one question for you," said Lawrence finally.
"Oh?" said Holo. She looked up after biting Lawrence's hand with considerable anger.
"How did you know there was pyrite in the alchemists' quarter—wait, no, Amati probably told you. What I want to know is, how did you get Diana to sell it to you? I just can't see it."
Holo looked out the window as if to say, "Oh, that?"
Dusk had arrived, and the second evening's festivities were about to begin.
It seemed that the same giant puppets from the first night were being used, though they were much the worse for wear. Half of the large lupine shapes had lost their heads. The participants' fatigue was obvious, even from a distance, as they tottered along. Some even fell on their bottoms—and not in jest.
Yet the column marched on, pulled forward by the sounds of flutes and drums.
Holo looked back to Lawrence; her eyes beckoned him to join her at the window.
Having no reason to refuse, he did so.
"The boy Amati told me everything he knew, so I was able to make a fair guess at what you were planning. But your plan was, well—I should compliment you."
Holo looked out on the festival as she leaned back into Lawrence.
He was unable to see her expression, but having been complimented, he felt he should accept it as gracefully as he could manage.
"Yes, so—Diana, was it? I went to see her for a different reason truthfully."
"A different reason?"
"I suppose you could call it a favor. I tracked down the location from the scent on the letter. The place stank like the worst hot springs—it was far from enjoyable."
While Lawrence was impressed at Holo's keen sense of smell, he had to admit the alchemists' quarter must have been quite an ordeal for her.
Holo sighed softly and continued, not looking at Lawrence. "So I asked her thus. I asked her if she would not invent a story of Yoitsu still existing and if she would pass it on to you."
Lawrence cocked his head for a moment, confused.
But then he understood.
Had he heard such a tale from Diana, he would surely have found it easier to speak to Holo again.
With that as a trigger, he would've needed nothing more.
"However," continued Holo, her tone suddenly irritated. "That girl just had me explain all the circumstances to her only to turn me down."
"Oh...really?" Lawrence thought back on the words Diana had spoken to him as he left her house: Good luck to you.
Had it been sarcasm?
"It was your fault that I was refused! Consider that, why don't you!"
Lawrence was jolted from his reverie by Holo stomping on his foot—though he did not follow her meaning.
"Honestly...I suffer through the humiliation of explaining everything and am on the very cusp of success, then you show up and make that girl come up with her pointless plan."
He was stunned beyond words—Holo had been there when he'd visited Diana?
"She said it would be good to test your resolve—the gall, acting as if she knows me!"

Output:
But he felt like he was forgetting something important.
"I also heard that foolish question you put to her."
"Ah—!" Lawrence shouted, his voice strangled.
Holo grinned devilishly and turned around to face Lawrence. "So there are many stories of gods and humans becoming mates, eh?" Her upward-cast eyes were frightening.
She slid her slender arms around Lawrence, like a snake entrapping its prey.
"If that is how you feel, I would not mind. Though I'd ask..."
The light that fell through the window cast a red glow over Holo's features.
"...I'd ask you to be gentle with me."
She must really be a demon, Lawrence thought to himself half-seriously—but she soon dropped her act.
"Mm. I just cannot seem to rouse myself after talking to that girl," said Holo, looking tired as she gazed out the window, her arms still around Lawrence.
She seemed to be looking not at the festival, but somewhere far away.
"Did you notice that she was not human?" Holo finally said.
Lawrence couldn't even manage a "surely not."
"You saw the feathers scattered about her room, yes? Those were hers."
"...They were?"
Although now that Holo mentioned it, Lawrence recalled that something about Diana had made him think of a bird.
Holo nodded and continued, "Her true form is a bird, much larger than you. She fell in love with a traveling monk and spent many years building a church with him, but eventually he noticed that no matter how many years passed, the girl never aged—thus the monk grew suspicious. No doubt you can guess the rest."
Lawrence felt Holo's arms tighten around him.
He thought he now understood the reason why Diana collected stories and why she protected the alchemists so.
But it would be painful to say it. Surely Holo did not want to hear it, either.
Lawrence said nothing.
Instead, he simply put his arm around Holo's shoulders.
"I wish to return to my homeland. Even...even if it's no longer there."
"We will."
Outside the window, the giant human and lupine puppets collided, and a great cheer arose.
But Lawrence realized the display was not reenacting some battle.
The people controlling these battered puppets were all laughing, and each onlooker seemed to have a cup of ale in hand.
They were not hitting each other, but putting their arms about one another's shoulders.
Soon they began to sing and dance, and the giant puppets in the center of the intersection were set ablaze.
Holo giggled. "Humans are so showy."
"They surely are."
Despite their distance from the intersection, Lawrence could feel the heat of the flames on his cheeks.
The ring of revelers that surrounded the fire gave a great cheer, and the bonfire itself seemed intense enough to overpower the pale moon.
Once again in the town of Kumersun, various gods and humans from near and far had come together to drink and celebrate after putting an end to their quarreling.
The conflicts were finally over.
"Shall we go?" asked Holo.
"I suppose we shall?"
But Holo did not immediately move. She looked up at the puzzled Lawrence. "For my part, I would not mind you being as passionate as those flames."
The flaming puppets had begun to collapse into a single pile.
Lawrence laughed. "I suppose if I were drunk enough."
Holo laughed, her sharp fangs flashing. Her tail wagged as she spoke, delighted. "If you become drunk, who's to watch over me? Fool!"
Lawrence took the laughing Holo's hand and led her out of the room.
The Kumersun night had once again been set ablaze with festivities.
Some time thereafter, it was spoken of in rumors that a true goddess had walked amid the crowds.
***
It has been a while! I'm Isuna Hasekura, and this is the third volume, which makes it the third story in the series.
This time I feel like I was able to write without forgetting the personalities of the characters. Instead of that, I've managed to forget the deadline for this afterword, and just a moment ago, I got a phone call from my editor, whose unfriendly smile I felt I could hear over the phone.


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

Input:
But he felt like he was forgetting something important.
"I also heard that foolish question you put to her."
"Ah—!" Lawrence shouted, his voice strangled.
Holo grinned devilishly and turned around to face Lawrence. "So there are many stories of gods and humans becoming mates, eh?" Her upward-cast eyes were frightening.
She slid her slender arms around Lawrence, like a snake entrapping its prey.
"If that is how you feel, I would not mind. Though I'd ask..."
The light that fell through the window cast a red glow over Holo's features.
"...I'd ask you to be gentle with me."
She must really be a demon, Lawrence thought to himself half-seriously—but she soon dropped her act.
"Mm. I just cannot seem to rouse myself after talking to that girl," said Holo, looking tired as she gazed out the window, her arms still around Lawrence.
She seemed to be looking not at the festival, but somewhere far away.
"Did you notice that she was not human?" Holo finally said.
Lawrence couldn't even manage a "surely not."
"You saw the feathers scattered about her room, yes? Those were hers."
"...They were?"
Although now that Holo mentioned it, Lawrence recalled that something about Diana had made him think of a bird.
Holo nodded and continued, "Her true form is a bird, much larger than you. She fell in love with a traveling monk and spent many years building a church with him, but eventually he noticed that no matter how many years passed, the girl never aged—thus the monk grew suspicious. No doubt you can guess the rest."
Lawrence felt Holo's arms tighten around him.
He thought he now understood the reason why Diana collected stories and why she protected the alchemists so.
But it would be painful to say it. Surely Holo did not want to hear it, either.
Lawrence said nothing.
Instead, he simply put his arm around Holo's shoulders.
"I wish to return to my homeland. Even...even if it's no longer there."
"We will."
Outside the window, the giant human and lupine puppets collided, and a great cheer arose.
But Lawrence realized the display was not reenacting some battle.
The people controlling these battered puppets were all laughing, and each onlooker seemed to have a cup of ale in hand.
They were not hitting each other, but putting their arms about one another's shoulders.
Soon they began to sing and dance, and the giant puppets in the center of the intersection were set ablaze.
Holo giggled. "Humans are so showy."
"They surely are."
Despite their distance from the intersection, Lawrence could feel the heat of the flames on his cheeks.
The ring of revelers that surrounded the fire gave a great cheer, and the bonfire itself seemed intense enough to overpower the pale moon.
Once again in the town of Kumersun, various gods and humans from near and far had come together to drink and celebrate after putting an end to their quarreling.
The conflicts were finally over.
"Shall we go?" asked Holo.
"I suppose we shall?"
But Holo did not immediately move. She looked up at the puzzled Lawrence. "For my part, I would not mind you being as passionate as those flames."
The flaming puppets had begun to collapse into a single pile.
Lawrence laughed. "I suppose if I were drunk enough."
Holo laughed, her sharp fangs flashing. Her tail wagged as she spoke, delighted. "If you become drunk, who's to watch over me? Fool!"
Lawrence took the laughing Holo's hand and led her out of the room.
The Kumersun night had once again been set ablaze with festivities.
Some time thereafter, it was spoken of in rumors that a true goddess had walked amid the crowds.
***
It has been a while! I'm Isuna Hasekura, and this is the third volume, which makes it the third story in the series.
This time I feel like I was able to write without forgetting the personalities of the characters. Instead of that, I've managed to forget the deadline for this afterword, and just a moment ago, I got a phone call from my editor, whose unfriendly smile I felt I could hear over the phone.

Output:
Well then, volume 3 means there are three books, of which this is the third novel. Around this time last year, I'd passed the first-round selection for the Dengeki Novel Prize and was camped out next to the phone, waiting for the results of the second-round selection. Back then, writing even one volume was a major effort—I'd write, then throw it away, write again, then throw it away again.
So since the end of last year, I've been writing at a nigh-heroic pace, and even in that year, I feel like maybe I've grown up just a bit.
My latest hobby is surfing real estate sites. And not normal ones. I'm talking about the big time—hundred-million-yen condos and mansions.
I like the view from high places, so I was thinking I'd like to live someday in a high-rise condo with a view of the city lights at night. I've been looking at model homes along those lines, and they're crazy. Everything's just done up in this unimaginably overwhelming fashion, and before I knew it, I was sucked in.
The prices had so many zeros I was rubbing my eyes just to make sure my vision still worked right, and when I saw the mere two-hundred-yen neighborhood association fee, I was genuinely relieved. Somehow I felt like I could work hard and keep on living. When I realized that using the parking lot and wine cellar (it had a wine cellar, guys!) of one of these mansions would cost more than the rent of my entire apartment, well, I guess I'm just a commoner at heart. I hope you'll all bear with me.
And now, my thanks.
To illustrator Jyuu Ayakura-sensei, thank you for making time in the midst of your busy schedule to draw such wonderful pictures. They make me want to have my writing be worthy of them every day.
And to my editor, Koetsu-sama. For your patient grammatical guidance, I thank you. As basic corrections to my Japanese become less and less frequent, I will devote myself more thoroughly to everything that comes after those corrections.
Finally to all of my readers, thank you for taking this book into your hands.
Let us meet again in the next volume.
Isuna Hasekura
***
The six days of winter travel had taken a toll on his body.
While it was fortunate that there had been no snow, cold was still cold.
What blankets he had were bought by the bundle and closer to softish boards than proper bedding. Anything that could plausibly ward off the chill had been stuffed under those blankets.
The warmest thing of all, naturally, would have been another warm-bodied creature, ideally one with fur.
If said creature could talk, though, well—that would be a problem.
"I cannot but muse that I am on the losing end of this bargain, 'tis true."
The sky was growing faintly brighter, the last vestiges of the night still caressing his face as though reluctant to leave.
Normally after being awakened by the cold, he would stare up at the paling sky for a time, unwilling to emerge from the blankets—but today his furred companion was obviously in a terrible temper.
"Look, I said I was sorry."
"Oh, aye, if it's a question of who is in the wrong and who should be apologizing, 'tis you and sure enough. I help ease night's chill as I can, and I'm even generous enough not to charge you for the favor."
The young man buried underneath the blankets, his face exposed and looking up at the sky, was Kraft Lawrence. He turned his head to the left.
Lawrence had been on his own as a merchant since he was eighteen—seven years now—and he had a fair amount of confidence in his ability to talk around even the most unreasonable of customers.
But even this seasoned merchant found himself at a loss for words when confronted by his companion, who lay to his right, directing at him a displeased stream of words with a sharp gaze to match.
The girl with her dark red eyes and flaxen hair was named Holo.
It was a rare name, but that was not the only rare thing about her.
After all, she sported a pair of keen, beastlike ears atop her head, and a splendid wolf tail sprouted from her waist.


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

Input:
Well then, volume 3 means there are three books, of which this is the third novel. Around this time last year, I'd passed the first-round selection for the Dengeki Novel Prize and was camped out next to the phone, waiting for the results of the second-round selection. Back then, writing even one volume was a major effort—I'd write, then throw it away, write again, then throw it away again.
So since the end of last year, I've been writing at a nigh-heroic pace, and even in that year, I feel like maybe I've grown up just a bit.
My latest hobby is surfing real estate sites. And not normal ones. I'm talking about the big time—hundred-million-yen condos and mansions.
I like the view from high places, so I was thinking I'd like to live someday in a high-rise condo with a view of the city lights at night. I've been looking at model homes along those lines, and they're crazy. Everything's just done up in this unimaginably overwhelming fashion, and before I knew it, I was sucked in.
The prices had so many zeros I was rubbing my eyes just to make sure my vision still worked right, and when I saw the mere two-hundred-yen neighborhood association fee, I was genuinely relieved. Somehow I felt like I could work hard and keep on living. When I realized that using the parking lot and wine cellar (it had a wine cellar, guys!) of one of these mansions would cost more than the rent of my entire apartment, well, I guess I'm just a commoner at heart. I hope you'll all bear with me.
And now, my thanks.
To illustrator Jyuu Ayakura-sensei, thank you for making time in the midst of your busy schedule to draw such wonderful pictures. They make me want to have my writing be worthy of them every day.
And to my editor, Koetsu-sama. For your patient grammatical guidance, I thank you. As basic corrections to my Japanese become less and less frequent, I will devote myself more thoroughly to everything that comes after those corrections.
Finally to all of my readers, thank you for taking this book into your hands.
Let us meet again in the next volume.
Isuna Hasekura
***
The six days of winter travel had taken a toll on his body.
While it was fortunate that there had been no snow, cold was still cold.
What blankets he had were bought by the bundle and closer to softish boards than proper bedding. Anything that could plausibly ward off the chill had been stuffed under those blankets.
The warmest thing of all, naturally, would have been another warm-bodied creature, ideally one with fur.
If said creature could talk, though, well—that would be a problem.
"I cannot but muse that I am on the losing end of this bargain, 'tis true."
The sky was growing faintly brighter, the last vestiges of the night still caressing his face as though reluctant to leave.
Normally after being awakened by the cold, he would stare up at the paling sky for a time, unwilling to emerge from the blankets—but today his furred companion was obviously in a terrible temper.
"Look, I said I was sorry."
"Oh, aye, if it's a question of who is in the wrong and who should be apologizing, 'tis you and sure enough. I help ease night's chill as I can, and I'm even generous enough not to charge you for the favor."
The young man buried underneath the blankets, his face exposed and looking up at the sky, was Kraft Lawrence. He turned his head to the left.
Lawrence had been on his own as a merchant since he was eighteen—seven years now—and he had a fair amount of confidence in his ability to talk around even the most unreasonable of customers.
But even this seasoned merchant found himself at a loss for words when confronted by his companion, who lay to his right, directing at him a displeased stream of words with a sharp gaze to match.
The girl with her dark red eyes and flaxen hair was named Holo.
It was a rare name, but that was not the only rare thing about her.
After all, she sported a pair of keen, beastlike ears atop her head, and a splendid wolf tail sprouted from her waist.

Output:
Holo would not have been as angry, presumably, if Lawrence had done something as easily understood as assaulting her in her bed while his wits were still dulled by sleep.
She would have simply mocked him mercilessly until he could barely stand, laughed a hearty laugh, and called it a day.
But no—the reason Lawrence endured this ceaseless stream of recrimination was because he had done something unforgivable.
What had he done? Owing to the cold, he'd unconsciously nestled his feet on Holo's furry tail. Worse, when he turned over in his sleep, he had caught her fur.
The centuries-old Holo, the self-styled wisewolf, the girl who was sometimes called a goddess (though she hated it) had uttered a piercing, girlish cry—the pain alone must have been insult enough.
Nevertheless, Lawrence felt a bit aggrieved at his subsequent treatment. He had been asleep, after all.
Despite the fact that even now Holo continued to rail at him, the instant his feet tangled in her fur and he stepped on her tail, she had punched him hard, twice, in the face.
Surely that was punishment enough, he felt.
"'Tis bad enough that you humans tread so easily upon one's feet when you are fully awake. But even when you are asleep! But lo—this tail is my pride! The only proof that I am me!"
Though the tail that Lawrence had rolled over was unharmed, a bit of fur had come free.
More than any pain, it was that indignity that infuriated Holo so.
Worse, before he'd rolled over, his feet seemed to have flattened a section of fur on her tail as they slept.
After staring dazedly at her tail for a moment, Holo tackled Lawrence, who had sensed that the situation was turning ugly and tried to escape from underneath the blankets, and she began to verbally assault him.
When angered, most would either turn cold and cruel or demand a duel of some kind. Holo's method of reprisal was far more effective.
It had been quite warm sleeping underneath the blankets with Holo, and the hour was just before dawn, and Lawrence's body was beleaguered after many days of winter travel.
It would hardly have been surprising if he began to doze off in the face of such unrelenting abuse.
If Lawrence's face betrayed even a hint of sleepiness, though, no doubt he would never hear the end of it.
It was like torture.
Holo would have made an excellent sheriff.
"Honestly, though..."
The interrogation did not cease until Holo exhausted herself with anger and dozed off again.
Lawrence was well aware that Holo's wrath was something to be feared and that anger could take many forms. He'd had no particular desire to discover yet another facet of it, but discover it he had—and having done so, he started the wagon moving along.
Worn out by her own tirade, Holo had stolen the blankets entirely and curled up like a caterpillar against the cold.
But she wasn't in the wagon bed. Instead, she lay sideways in the driver's seat, her head resting upon Lawrence's lap.
She certainly looked suitably meek and lovely, but given the timing...No, the depth of her calculation was frightening.
If she'd bared her teeth, that would have given Lawrence an excuse to fight back. If she'd ignored him, he could have ignored her in turn.
But forcing her head onto the merchant's lap only further worsened his position.
He couldn't get angry; he couldn't ignore her. And if she were to beg him for something to eat, he'd be unable to refuse her. Her actions, after all, made it clear that she was mollified.
Though the sun had now risen, taking the chill off the morning air, the sigh that came from Lawrence's mouth was a heavy one.
Despite warning himself that he would need to be more careful of Holo's tail in the future, it was hard to resist such warmth when camping in the winter.
If there had been a god to ask, he would've prayed: "What should I do?"
But then the mute morning travels came to an unexpectedly sudden end.


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

Input:
Holo would not have been as angry, presumably, if Lawrence had done something as easily understood as assaulting her in her bed while his wits were still dulled by sleep.
She would have simply mocked him mercilessly until he could barely stand, laughed a hearty laugh, and called it a day.
But no—the reason Lawrence endured this ceaseless stream of recrimination was because he had done something unforgivable.
What had he done? Owing to the cold, he'd unconsciously nestled his feet on Holo's furry tail. Worse, when he turned over in his sleep, he had caught her fur.
The centuries-old Holo, the self-styled wisewolf, the girl who was sometimes called a goddess (though she hated it) had uttered a piercing, girlish cry—the pain alone must have been insult enough.
Nevertheless, Lawrence felt a bit aggrieved at his subsequent treatment. He had been asleep, after all.
Despite the fact that even now Holo continued to rail at him, the instant his feet tangled in her fur and he stepped on her tail, she had punched him hard, twice, in the face.
Surely that was punishment enough, he felt.
"'Tis bad enough that you humans tread so easily upon one's feet when you are fully awake. But even when you are asleep! But lo—this tail is my pride! The only proof that I am me!"
Though the tail that Lawrence had rolled over was unharmed, a bit of fur had come free.
More than any pain, it was that indignity that infuriated Holo so.
Worse, before he'd rolled over, his feet seemed to have flattened a section of fur on her tail as they slept.
After staring dazedly at her tail for a moment, Holo tackled Lawrence, who had sensed that the situation was turning ugly and tried to escape from underneath the blankets, and she began to verbally assault him.
When angered, most would either turn cold and cruel or demand a duel of some kind. Holo's method of reprisal was far more effective.
It had been quite warm sleeping underneath the blankets with Holo, and the hour was just before dawn, and Lawrence's body was beleaguered after many days of winter travel.
It would hardly have been surprising if he began to doze off in the face of such unrelenting abuse.
If Lawrence's face betrayed even a hint of sleepiness, though, no doubt he would never hear the end of it.
It was like torture.
Holo would have made an excellent sheriff.
"Honestly, though..."
The interrogation did not cease until Holo exhausted herself with anger and dozed off again.
Lawrence was well aware that Holo's wrath was something to be feared and that anger could take many forms. He'd had no particular desire to discover yet another facet of it, but discover it he had—and having done so, he started the wagon moving along.
Worn out by her own tirade, Holo had stolen the blankets entirely and curled up like a caterpillar against the cold.
But she wasn't in the wagon bed. Instead, she lay sideways in the driver's seat, her head resting upon Lawrence's lap.
She certainly looked suitably meek and lovely, but given the timing...No, the depth of her calculation was frightening.
If she'd bared her teeth, that would have given Lawrence an excuse to fight back. If she'd ignored him, he could have ignored her in turn.
But forcing her head onto the merchant's lap only further worsened his position.
He couldn't get angry; he couldn't ignore her. And if she were to beg him for something to eat, he'd be unable to refuse her. Her actions, after all, made it clear that she was mollified.
Though the sun had now risen, taking the chill off the morning air, the sigh that came from Lawrence's mouth was a heavy one.
Despite warning himself that he would need to be more careful of Holo's tail in the future, it was hard to resist such warmth when camping in the winter.
If there had been a god to ask, he would've prayed: "What should I do?"
But then the mute morning travels came to an unexpectedly sudden end.

Output:
He'd never been to this region before and lacked any sense of the lay of the land.
It was slightly to the east of the central region of Ploania, a vast nation that was home to both pagans and church followers. Lawrence wasn't sure about the military importance of the area, but he knew it held little to interest a merchant such as himself.
The only reason he was here at all was because of the devilish girl who lay asleep on his lap.
He was guiding her back to her homeland, Yoitsu.
Because of the centuries that had passed since she had left, her memories of the details of the place were blurry and dim. Much had changed in the world over such a span of time, and Holo was eager to learn even the tiniest rumor of her homeland—all the more so now that she had learned of the legend recounting Yoitsu's destruction.
Six days earlier in the town of Kumersun, they'd made the acquaintance of Diana, a chronicler who collected folklore. Diana had told them of a monk who specialized in tales of pagan gods.
The monk in question lived in a remote monastery, and only the Church priest in the town of Tereo knew its location.
The path to Tereo was not widely known, however, so the pair headed first to another town, Enberch, to ask directions.
It was that town at which they had finally arrived.
"I wish to eat sweetbread." As they approached the town's gatehouse, Holo stirred and awoke, and these were the first words from her mouth. "And by sweetbread, I mean—you know. Wheat bread."
What she requested was not inexpensive, but Lawrence had no right to refuse her.
Lawrence didn't know what would sell in the region, so he'd brought wheat with him—wheat he had bought from his friend Mark the wheat seller, to whom he owed a favor. But as Lawrence and Holo traveled, it was bitter rye bread he'd chosen for their rations.
His miserly decision had made him the target of no small amount of complaining on Holo's part.
He couldn't help thinking darkly of the high-quality, grandly risen bread Holo would no doubt demand.
"We've got to sell our goods first, in any case."
"I suppose I'll allow that."
Truthfully it had been Holo who begged Lawrence to allow her to accompany him, yet most of the time Lawrence felt like her valet.
She seemed to notice Lawrence's irritation. "Ah, but my lovely tail has been trampled 'neath your feet. 'Tis only fair that I trample upon you a bit in return," she said mischievously, stroking her tail beneath her robe.
He'd expected Holo to continue complaining for some time, but it seemed she had spoken her piece.
Lawrence sighed inwardly, relieved, and turned the wagon toward the miller's.
Though Enberch was remote, it seemed to be the acknowledged trade center of the region and fairly busy.
Lawrence and Holo had merely happened to approach the town from a less-trafficked direction.
Throughout the town square were carts loaded with grain, produce, and animals that had been brought from nearby villages. Buyers and sellers jammed the area.
There was a large church that faced the square, its doors flung open to accommodate the bustling trade it seemed to do. Through the doorway passed a steady stream of townspeople coming to pray or to attend service.
Enberch was the sort of rural town you could find anywhere in the world.
Upon asking at the gatehouse, Lawrence learned that the largest miller in town was the Riendott Company.
Though it was little more than a miller's shop, the word company had been tacked onto the end. It struck Lawrence as awfully countrified.
Yet past the north edge of the square on the right side of the clean, straight road, there stood the Riendott Company—complete with a wide storefront and grand loading dock. The merchant understood why this business would want to maintain its reputation.
He'd bought up about three hundred trenni worth of grain in Kumersun.
About half of this had carefully been winnowed and ground into flour. The remainder had merely been threshed.