sensitive as her ears.
The potatoes were topped with goat cheese. Lawrence would never have indulged in such luxury had he been alone, but now that he was in a party of two, he decided to be generous. Holo’s happy reaction made it entirely worthwhile.
Lawrence set the potatoes on the table beside the bed, and Holo immediately reached out to help herself. Just before she could grab a potato, Lawrence tossed the pouch full of wheat to her.
“Wha .. . oh. The wheat.”
“And here’s a strap, so you can work out a way to hang it around your neck.”
“Mm. My thanks. But this takes precedence,” she said, tossing the wheat aside with surprising nonchalance, then licking her lips and reaching for a potato. Apparently eating was a priority for Holo.
Once she had a potato in hand, she immediately broke it in half. Her face fairly glowed with delight at the steam that rose from the food. With her tail wagging back and forth she looked undeniably canine, but Lawrence was sure that if he pointed it out she’d be irritated, so he said nothing.
“So wolves find potatoes delicious, do they?”
“Aye. It is not as though we wolves eat meat year-round. We eat tender buds from trees. We eat fish. And the crops that humans raise are better still than tree buds. Also, I rather like the human habit of putting meat and vegetables to a fire.”
It is said that a cat’s tongue cannot stand hot food, but wolves did not appear to have this problem. Holo held half of the potato in her hand and popped the entire piece into her mouth at once after blowing on it two or three times. Lawrence felt that she’d bitten off more than she could chew, and indeed she soon appeared to choke. Lawrence tossed her a water-skin, and with it Holo managed to get the potato down.
“Whew. Rather surprising, that. Human throats are so narrow. It’s rather inconvenient.”
“Wolves swallow things whole, right?”
“Mm. Well, we lack this, so we cannot chew at our leisure.” Holo pulled at the edge of her lips; presumably she was talking about her cheeks.
“But I’ve choked on potatoes in the past, it’s true.”
“Oh ho.”
“I suppose potatoes and I are ill-fated.”
Lawrence resisted telling her that it was her gluttony that boded ill, not potatoes.
“Earlier,” he began instead, “you said something about being able to tell when someone is lying?”
Upon hearing the question, Holo turned to face him mid-bite, but suddenly looked aside and moved her hand.
Before Lawrence could ask what was wrong, her hand stopped, frozen in midair as if she’d grabbed something.
“There are still fleas.”
“It’s that nice fur of yours. I bet it’s a lovely bed for them.” Transporting fur or woven goods often involved smoking the fleas out of them, depending on the season. Lawrence spoke from experience, but Holo seemed quite shocked, and thrust out her chest as she spoke proudly.
“Well, it’s a credit to your eye for quality that you can tell as much, then!” she said haughtily. Lawrence decided to keep his thoughts to himself.
“So is it true that you can tell truth from lies?”
“Hm? Oh, more or less.” Wiping off the hand that had grabbed the flea, Holo turned her attention back to the potato.
“So, how good at it are you?”
“Well, I know that what you said about my tail just now was not meant as praise.”
Lawrence, stunned, said nothing. Holo giggled happily.
“It’s not perfect, though. You may believe me or not...as you wish,” said Holo impishly, licking cheese from her fingers.
She’d gotten the better of him again, but if he were to react, that would only give her another opportunity. Lawrence composed himself and tried again.
“So let me ask you this—was the lad’s story true?”
“The lad?”
“The one who spoke to us by the furnace.”
“Oh. Heh, lad,’ you say.”
“Is something funny?”
“From where I stand you’re both but lads.”
If he tried a comeback she’d only toy with
The potatoes were topped with goat cheese. Lawrence would never have indulged in such luxury had he been alone, but now that he was in a party of two, he decided to be generous. Holo’s happy reaction made it entirely worthwhile.
Lawrence set the potatoes on the table beside the bed, and Holo immediately reached out to help herself. Just before she could grab a potato, Lawrence tossed the pouch full of wheat to her.
“Wha .. . oh. The wheat.”
“And here’s a strap, so you can work out a way to hang it around your neck.”
“Mm. My thanks. But this takes precedence,” she said, tossing the wheat aside with surprising nonchalance, then licking her lips and reaching for a potato. Apparently eating was a priority for Holo.
Once she had a potato in hand, she immediately broke it in half. Her face fairly glowed with delight at the steam that rose from the food. With her tail wagging back and forth she looked undeniably canine, but Lawrence was sure that if he pointed it out she’d be irritated, so he said nothing.
“So wolves find potatoes delicious, do they?”
“Aye. It is not as though we wolves eat meat year-round. We eat tender buds from trees. We eat fish. And the crops that humans raise are better still than tree buds. Also, I rather like the human habit of putting meat and vegetables to a fire.”
It is said that a cat’s tongue cannot stand hot food, but wolves did not appear to have this problem. Holo held half of the potato in her hand and popped the entire piece into her mouth at once after blowing on it two or three times. Lawrence felt that she’d bitten off more than she could chew, and indeed she soon appeared to choke. Lawrence tossed her a water-skin, and with it Holo managed to get the potato down.
“Whew. Rather surprising, that. Human throats are so narrow. It’s rather inconvenient.”
“Wolves swallow things whole, right?”
“Mm. Well, we lack this, so we cannot chew at our leisure.” Holo pulled at the edge of her lips; presumably she was talking about her cheeks.
“But I’ve choked on potatoes in the past, it’s true.”
“Oh ho.”
“I suppose potatoes and I are ill-fated.”
Lawrence resisted telling her that it was her gluttony that boded ill, not potatoes.
“Earlier,” he began instead, “you said something about being able to tell when someone is lying?”
Upon hearing the question, Holo turned to face him mid-bite, but suddenly looked aside and moved her hand.
Before Lawrence could ask what was wrong, her hand stopped, frozen in midair as if she’d grabbed something.
“There are still fleas.”
“It’s that nice fur of yours. I bet it’s a lovely bed for them.” Transporting fur or woven goods often involved smoking the fleas out of them, depending on the season. Lawrence spoke from experience, but Holo seemed quite shocked, and thrust out her chest as she spoke proudly.
“Well, it’s a credit to your eye for quality that you can tell as much, then!” she said haughtily. Lawrence decided to keep his thoughts to himself.
“So is it true that you can tell truth from lies?”
“Hm? Oh, more or less.” Wiping off the hand that had grabbed the flea, Holo turned her attention back to the potato.
“So, how good at it are you?”
“Well, I know that what you said about my tail just now was not meant as praise.”
Lawrence, stunned, said nothing. Holo giggled happily.
“It’s not perfect, though. You may believe me or not...as you wish,” said Holo impishly, licking cheese from her fingers.
She’d gotten the better of him again, but if he were to react, that would only give her another opportunity. Lawrence composed himself and tried again.
“So let me ask you this—was the lad’s story true?”
“The lad?”
“The one who spoke to us by the furnace.”
“Oh. Heh, lad,’ you say.”
“Is something funny?”
“From where I stand you’re both but lads.”
If he tried a comeback she’d only toy with
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