FL - Chapter 37: Wolf Training

Night fell. Louis, Sif, and a few knights sat in the dining hall, eating supper.

A few dim oil lamps had been lit, their glow falling over the simple fare laid out on the long wooden table.

Smoked fish, carrying the faint, woody scent of the smokehouse. Wheat porridge, still steaming. A few slabs of coarse rye bread and some pickled vegetables arranged to the side.

The dining hall itself was bare of any finery. Wooden tables and chairs, oil lamps yellowing with age, even a few cracks visible in the timber walls.

Sif took it all in, surprised.

This was nothing like the noble life she'd imagined.

In her mind, a noble's table ought to be draped in gold-trimmed cloth, piled with exquisite dishes, silverware gleaming, goblets brimming with fine wine.

The reality was that Louis's supper, while a little better than what his common folk ate, was nowhere near extravagant.

Louis noticed the subtle shift in her expression. "Not to your taste?"

Sif quickly shook her head. "No, it's fine."

She had been a tribal princess once, and she'd certainly eaten better than this. But supplies in the Northlands were scarce, and even her old life hadn't been all that luxurious.

She lifted her bowl and took a sip of the wheat porridge. The warmth and gentle graininess spread through her mouth. It wasn't bad.

Halfway through the meal, Sif looked up and asked offhandedly, "What are you doing tonight?"

Louis chewed his smoked fish and answered between bites. "Wolf training."

"Wolf training?" Sif blinked, then her eyes lit up.

Louis nodded. "Mm."

Louis now set aside a few evenings every week to train his Ice Wolf, Coldfang, at the beast-training grounds.

After weeks of training, Coldfang had begun responding to Louis's commands. But full obedience still required more work.

Tonight's focus was on hunting whistle codes.

Hunting whistle codes were a specialized whistle system for taming wild beasts, commonly used in hunting, combat, and patrol.

They employed variations in pitch and rhythm to make the animal understand and execute commands.

Louis raised his hand, pressed the whistle to his lips, and blew a single long, high note.

Coldfang's body tensed. He dropped low, belly tight to the ground, poised to spring at prey.

Then Louis blew two short, clipped notes.

Coldfang exploded forward, lunging at the target ahead. His razor fangs sank into the cloth dummy. With a savage wrench, he tore it apart.

Fabric shredded. A low growl rumbled in the wolf's throat.

Finally, Louis blew a rapid string of trilling notes.

Coldfang halted sharply. He swept his surroundings with a vigilant glare, then released his grip and retreated swiftly back to Louis's side.

The entire sequence was smooth and crisp. He already possessed a solid foundation of tactical coordination.

Louis nodded and reached out to stroke Coldfang's neck.

"Well done," he murmured. He pulled a cut of meat from his belt and held it before Coldfang.

Coldfang licked his fangs but didn't lunge for it right away.

He glanced at Louis first. Only after he'd confirmed his master's approval did he snap his jaws around the meat, a low rumble of contentment rolling in his throat.

"He's showing real discipline now." Aiger, the beastmaster, approached with a respectful bow, his tone carrying a note of quiet satisfaction. "You're taming him faster than I expected.

But for Coldfang to follow you completely, more work is still needed. Ice Wolves aren't like ordinary beasts. Trust and obedience have to be built, piece by piece."

"I know," Louis replied.

Sif watched the Ice Wolf in the training yard, and her expression darkened.

Back in her tribe, she'd had an Ice Wolf, too.

Lone Moon.

She'd raised him since he was a pup. They'd hunted together, run together through storms of wind and snow, pressed close to each other for warmth on freezing nights.

But now, he was probably already...

Sif's hand tightened, her fingernails biting into her palm.

*Dead.*

Ever since she'd woken from her coma, Sif had forced herself not to dwell on those horrors. But sometimes, she couldn't help it.

Louis glanced at her. He seemed to sense something was wrong. "What's the matter?" he asked quietly.

Sif was silent for a moment. In the end, she couldn't hold it in. "I used to raise an Ice Wolf, too. He's dead now."

Her voice was calm, as though the fact had nothing to do with her.

Louis paused in thought, then pointed toward a distant enclosure where a litter of Ice Wolf cubs was gathered. "Want to pick one to raise?"

Sif froze, struggling to process the offer.

She looked toward the cluster of fluffy little cubs. They were sitting or lying sprawled in a soft, furry heap.

Her gaze passed over each one before settling on a cub tucked away in the corner.

Its fur carried a faint silver-gray sheen, and its eyes were ice-blue. It looked a little like the Lone Moon she remembered.

She stepped forward and gently extended her hand.

The cub shyly sniffed her fingertips. Then it cautiously poked out its tongue and licked her palm.

In that instant, something pulled her back from the labyrinth of memory.

Sif's eyes reddened at the rims. She traced her fingertips gently through the cub's soft fur. "Then your name will be Lone Moon, too."

The little wolf let out a soft whimper in answer.

Sif's throat tightened.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but no sound came out.

The next moment, warm tears slipped silently down her cheeks and fell onto the cub's soft fur.

...

The night deepened as training continued.

Louis stood at the edge of the training grounds, stretched lazily, and glanced sideways at Sif. "Today's work ends here. When you get back, make sure you record today's itinerary."

Sif nodded, turned, and made her way back to her small cabin.

As one of only three literate people in the entire territory, a rare talent, she'd been given her own private room by Louis.

The cub hadn't been brought back with her yet. It still hadn't fully imprinted on her.

Sif sighed softly, set aside her tangled thoughts, walked to her desk, and lit the oil lamp.

She opened her notebook and began writing down the day's record, line by line.

*Morning: The lord personally drilled the soldiers. They hold him in deep respect.*

*The lord inspected the farmland and fisheries. Offered development guidance.*

*He showed concern for a wounded knight and promised to provide better medicine.*

*He discovered the potential of Birch Sugar. Attempting to promote sugar industry development.*

...

Sif finished writing out Louis's itinerary for the day. She stared at the lines for a long while, a complicated swirl of emotion rising in her chest.

He was clearly a lord, yet he showed none of a noble's arrogance.

Everywhere he went, people respected him.

Her pen tip hovered, and on a separate sheet of paper, she wrote four words: *He is a good man.*

After she finished writing, she looked at the sentence and felt a sudden flash of defiance. She muttered to herself with practiced aloofness: "He's probably just faking it."

But deep in her heart, she no longer truly believed that.

She idly tossed a piece of Birch Sugar into her mouth.

The sweetness bloomed across her tongue, carrying with it that faint, unique fragrance of the forest.

Sif leaned back in her chair and murmured, so softly it was barely a breath: "Mm. So sweet."