pleasantly with the churchgoers.
The sight of the devout chatting with the god of the harvest whose existence they refused to acknowledge was amusing, though Lawrence lacked the nerve to find it so.
Holo took her leave from the congregation and quietly approached a dumbfounded Lawrence. She clasped her small hands together in front of her chest and spoke.
“Lord, grant my husband courage.”
The well water was chilly due to the approaching winter; Lawrence poured it over his head anyway and pretended not to hear Holo’s laughter.
“It’s gotten a bit more important, the Church has,” said Holo.
Lawrence shook his head to clear it of water, just as Holo had done with her tail the previous day. “The Church has always been important.”
“Hardly. It was not so when I came through here from the north. They’d always be going on about how the one god and his twelve angels created the world and how humanity was but borrowing it. Nature is not something created, though. Even then, I thought to myself, ‘When did these people learn to tell such jokes?’ ”
This centuries-old harvest god was talking like a natural philosopher criticizing the Church, which made it all the more amusing. Lawrence dried off and dressed. He wouldn’t forget to leave a coin in the tithe-box that was prepared there. One was expected to leave money in the box if one used the well, and the people of the church would be checking. Anyone who failed to leave a donation would have unlucky things said about him. The constantly traveling Lawrence needed all the luck he could get.
Nonetheless, what he tossed in the box was a worn, blackened copper coin that could barely be counted as money.
“I suppose this is a sign of the times, then...much has changed.”
Presumably she referred to her homeland, given the desolate expression on her face.
“Have you yourself changed?” asked Lawrence.
“...” Holo shook her head wordlessly. It was somehow a very childish gesture.
“Then I’m sure your homeland hasn’t changed, either.”
Despite his youth, Lawrence had endured much. He’d been to many nations, met many people, and gained a wide variety of experiences, so he felt qualified to say as much.
All traveling merchants—even those who had run away from their homes—couldn’t help holding their homeland dear, since when in a foreign land, one could only trust one’s countrymen.
Holo nodded, her face emerging slightly from underneath the cloak.
“ ’Twould be a disgrace to the name Wisewolf to be comforted by you, though,” she said with a smile, turning and heading back toward their room.
She gave him a sidelong glance that could’ve been interpreted as gratitude.
As long as her attitude was that of a very sly, very old person, Lawrence could cope.
It was her childish side that he found difficult.
Lawrence was twenty-five. If he lived in a town he’d be married and taking his wife and children to church. His life was half over, and Holo’s childish demeanor penetrated his lonely heart.
“Hey, what keeps you? Hurry!” shouted Holo, looking over her shoulder at him.
It had been a mere two days since Lawrence met Holo, but it felt like much longer.
Lawrence decided to accept Zheren’s offer.
However, Zheren could not simply rely on Lawrence’s word and hand over the information; neither could Lawrence afford to pay up front. He would have to sell his furs first. Thus the two men decided to meet in the riverside city of Pazzio and sign a formal contract before a public witness.
“Well then, I’ll be on my way When you arrive in Pazzio, find a tavern called Yorend; you’ll be able to contact me there.”
“Yorend, is it? Very well.”
Zheren smiled his charming smile again as he took his leave, hefting his burlap sack of dried fruit over his shoulder as he walked on.
Besides actual trading, the most important task that faced a young merchant was exploring the many regions, becoming familiar with the locals
The sight of the devout chatting with the god of the harvest whose existence they refused to acknowledge was amusing, though Lawrence lacked the nerve to find it so.
Holo took her leave from the congregation and quietly approached a dumbfounded Lawrence. She clasped her small hands together in front of her chest and spoke.
“Lord, grant my husband courage.”
The well water was chilly due to the approaching winter; Lawrence poured it over his head anyway and pretended not to hear Holo’s laughter.
“It’s gotten a bit more important, the Church has,” said Holo.
Lawrence shook his head to clear it of water, just as Holo had done with her tail the previous day. “The Church has always been important.”
“Hardly. It was not so when I came through here from the north. They’d always be going on about how the one god and his twelve angels created the world and how humanity was but borrowing it. Nature is not something created, though. Even then, I thought to myself, ‘When did these people learn to tell such jokes?’ ”
This centuries-old harvest god was talking like a natural philosopher criticizing the Church, which made it all the more amusing. Lawrence dried off and dressed. He wouldn’t forget to leave a coin in the tithe-box that was prepared there. One was expected to leave money in the box if one used the well, and the people of the church would be checking. Anyone who failed to leave a donation would have unlucky things said about him. The constantly traveling Lawrence needed all the luck he could get.
Nonetheless, what he tossed in the box was a worn, blackened copper coin that could barely be counted as money.
“I suppose this is a sign of the times, then...much has changed.”
Presumably she referred to her homeland, given the desolate expression on her face.
“Have you yourself changed?” asked Lawrence.
“...” Holo shook her head wordlessly. It was somehow a very childish gesture.
“Then I’m sure your homeland hasn’t changed, either.”
Despite his youth, Lawrence had endured much. He’d been to many nations, met many people, and gained a wide variety of experiences, so he felt qualified to say as much.
All traveling merchants—even those who had run away from their homes—couldn’t help holding their homeland dear, since when in a foreign land, one could only trust one’s countrymen.
Holo nodded, her face emerging slightly from underneath the cloak.
“ ’Twould be a disgrace to the name Wisewolf to be comforted by you, though,” she said with a smile, turning and heading back toward their room.
She gave him a sidelong glance that could’ve been interpreted as gratitude.
As long as her attitude was that of a very sly, very old person, Lawrence could cope.
It was her childish side that he found difficult.
Lawrence was twenty-five. If he lived in a town he’d be married and taking his wife and children to church. His life was half over, and Holo’s childish demeanor penetrated his lonely heart.
“Hey, what keeps you? Hurry!” shouted Holo, looking over her shoulder at him.
It had been a mere two days since Lawrence met Holo, but it felt like much longer.
Lawrence decided to accept Zheren’s offer.
However, Zheren could not simply rely on Lawrence’s word and hand over the information; neither could Lawrence afford to pay up front. He would have to sell his furs first. Thus the two men decided to meet in the riverside city of Pazzio and sign a formal contract before a public witness.
“Well then, I’ll be on my way When you arrive in Pazzio, find a tavern called Yorend; you’ll be able to contact me there.”
“Yorend, is it? Very well.”
Zheren smiled his charming smile again as he took his leave, hefting his burlap sack of dried fruit over his shoulder as he walked on.
Besides actual trading, the most important task that faced a young merchant was exploring the many regions, becoming familiar with the locals
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