but he still wanted to sell it in Ruvinheigen.
He pondered silently for a moment, then gave his thanks to the other merchant, and returned to the wagon.
Holo had behaved herself, but once Lawrence sat down in the driver’s seat, she started giggling. “Summoned, eh?”
“So, what is Holo the Wisewolf’s take on this?”
“Hm?”
“The wolves in the plains,” Lawrence clarified as he took up the reins and mulled over the question at hand—to go or not to go.
“Mm,” sniffed Holo, idly biting her little fingernail with a sharp fang. “I think they’d be more interesting than humans. At the very least, we’ll be able to talk.”
It was a good joke.
“That decides it, then.” Lawrence flicked the reins and turned the wagon around, heading down the road and away from the chattering merchants.
A few of them saw and raised their voice in surprise, but most simply took off their hats or capes and waved.
“Good luck,” their gestures said.
There was no merchant that would shy away from a dangerous bridge—if across that dangerous bridge waited a larger profit.
The news of a mercenary band traveling the roads would spread faster than a plague. Such was the threat that they posed.
But for a merchant, time was an indispensable tool. Wasting it always led to loss.
This is why Lawrence decided that with Holo along, he would risk traveling the plains, despite the rumors of wolves.
The stories of a nearby mercenary band would surely have an impact on the Ruvinheigen market, and Lawrence meant to take advantage of that to make a nice bit of pocket money. At first he’d jumped to the assumption that things had taken a turn for the worse, but in reality, it was just the opposite.
And in any case, unexpected developments were part and parcel of the life of a traveling merchant—that’s what made it fun.
“You certainly seem happy,” remarked a bemused Holo.
“I suppose” was Lawrence’s short reply.
The road ahead led to profit, the watchword of the traveling merchant.
They arrived at the plains in question before noon the next day.
There were times when new trade routes naturally occurred, and other times when the powers that be in the region created them. Sometimes grass was cleared to make the road, but in extreme cases, gravel would be laid, then topped with wooden planks, allowing carts to cross the terrain at relatively high speeds.
Such roads did not come cheaply, of course, and tolls to use them were high, but since robbers along these roads were dealt with harshly, the price was a good value in terms of time and safety.
The road ahead, with its rumors of wolf appearances, was somewhere between the two types.
A sign had been erected, indicating the destination of the road that now branched off. There at the fork was a pile of weather-beaten planks, as if there had once been a plan to build something at this junction. Perhaps the builders had intended to collect a toll to maintain the road well, but now all that remained was that one lonely sign.
The junction sat atop a small hill, and from its crest, one could see down the road as far as one cared to. This seemed like a good spot for lunch.
Despite the approaching winter, the grass was still quite green, and Lawrence could look out across plains that he would have rushed to pasture his sheep upon were he a shepherd.
All that was left of the road that cut through the plains was a pair of wagon tracks, mostly overgrown with grass. Naturally, there were no other travelers.
According to Lawrence’s mental map, the forest to the north of this road was the most suitable spot for the wolves to make their home, but it was hardly true that all wolves lived in forests. In the distance stood patches of tall grass, and this looked more and more like an ideal plain for wolves.
Lawrence could guess that much without asking Holo, but he went ahead and consulted her anyway.
“What do you think? Any wolves about?”
Holo, who was in the process of
He pondered silently for a moment, then gave his thanks to the other merchant, and returned to the wagon.
Holo had behaved herself, but once Lawrence sat down in the driver’s seat, she started giggling. “Summoned, eh?”
“So, what is Holo the Wisewolf’s take on this?”
“Hm?”
“The wolves in the plains,” Lawrence clarified as he took up the reins and mulled over the question at hand—to go or not to go.
“Mm,” sniffed Holo, idly biting her little fingernail with a sharp fang. “I think they’d be more interesting than humans. At the very least, we’ll be able to talk.”
It was a good joke.
“That decides it, then.” Lawrence flicked the reins and turned the wagon around, heading down the road and away from the chattering merchants.
A few of them saw and raised their voice in surprise, but most simply took off their hats or capes and waved.
“Good luck,” their gestures said.
There was no merchant that would shy away from a dangerous bridge—if across that dangerous bridge waited a larger profit.
The news of a mercenary band traveling the roads would spread faster than a plague. Such was the threat that they posed.
But for a merchant, time was an indispensable tool. Wasting it always led to loss.
This is why Lawrence decided that with Holo along, he would risk traveling the plains, despite the rumors of wolves.
The stories of a nearby mercenary band would surely have an impact on the Ruvinheigen market, and Lawrence meant to take advantage of that to make a nice bit of pocket money. At first he’d jumped to the assumption that things had taken a turn for the worse, but in reality, it was just the opposite.
And in any case, unexpected developments were part and parcel of the life of a traveling merchant—that’s what made it fun.
“You certainly seem happy,” remarked a bemused Holo.
“I suppose” was Lawrence’s short reply.
The road ahead led to profit, the watchword of the traveling merchant.
They arrived at the plains in question before noon the next day.
There were times when new trade routes naturally occurred, and other times when the powers that be in the region created them. Sometimes grass was cleared to make the road, but in extreme cases, gravel would be laid, then topped with wooden planks, allowing carts to cross the terrain at relatively high speeds.
Such roads did not come cheaply, of course, and tolls to use them were high, but since robbers along these roads were dealt with harshly, the price was a good value in terms of time and safety.
The road ahead, with its rumors of wolf appearances, was somewhere between the two types.
A sign had been erected, indicating the destination of the road that now branched off. There at the fork was a pile of weather-beaten planks, as if there had once been a plan to build something at this junction. Perhaps the builders had intended to collect a toll to maintain the road well, but now all that remained was that one lonely sign.
The junction sat atop a small hill, and from its crest, one could see down the road as far as one cared to. This seemed like a good spot for lunch.
Despite the approaching winter, the grass was still quite green, and Lawrence could look out across plains that he would have rushed to pasture his sheep upon were he a shepherd.
All that was left of the road that cut through the plains was a pair of wagon tracks, mostly overgrown with grass. Naturally, there were no other travelers.
According to Lawrence’s mental map, the forest to the north of this road was the most suitable spot for the wolves to make their home, but it was hardly true that all wolves lived in forests. In the distance stood patches of tall grass, and this looked more and more like an ideal plain for wolves.
Lawrence could guess that much without asking Holo, but he went ahead and consulted her anyway.
“What do you think? Any wolves about?”
Holo, who was in the process of
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