Training wolves

Night fell, and Louis sat down to dinner in the dining hall with Sif and several knights.

A few dim oil lamps were lit, illuminating the simple meal on the long wooden table.

The smoked fish carried a faint, woodsy aroma, and the wheat porridge still steamed. A few pieces of coarse wheat bread and some pickled cabbage sat beside them.

The dining hall had no lavish decorations either-just wooden tables and chairs, the yellowish glow of oil lamps, and even a few cracks visible in the wooden walls.

Sif looked around, a little surprised.

This was nothing like the noble lifestyle she had imagined.

As far as she knew, nobles' tables should have been covered with gold-embroidered tablecloths, their plates piled with exquisite dishes, their silverware gleaming, and their goblets filled with sweet wine.

Yet in reality, while Louis's dinner was a little better than an ordinary subject's, it was nowhere near luxurious.

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

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

Though she had once been her tribe's princess and eaten better than this, supplies in the Northern Frontier had always been scarce. Her meals had never been particularly extravagant either.

She lifted her bowl and took a sip of porridge. Its warm, wheaty fragrance spread through her mouth. It tasted quite good.

Halfway through dinner, Sif looked up and casually asked, "What are you doing tonight?"

"Training a wolf," Louis said as he chewed his smoked fish.

"Training a wolf?" Sif paused, then her eyes lit up.

Louis nodded. "Yes."

Louis now set aside a few evenings each week to train Cold Fang, the Tundra Wolf, at the beast-training grounds.

After several weeks of training, Cold Fang had begun responding to Louis's commands, though complete obedience would still take more work.

Today's practice was the Hunting Whistle Code.

The Hunting Whistle Code was a system of whistle signals designed specifically for taming beasts, commonly used in hunting, combat, or patrols.

It used different pitches and rhythms to help animals understand and carry out commands.

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

Cold Fang's body tensed slightly, then the wolf crouched low, limbs pressed close to the ground, ready to ambush prey at any moment.

Next, Louis blew two short notes.

Cold Fang sprang up and lunged at the target ahead, sinking sharp fangs into the cloth dummy and tearing hard!

The cloth ripped apart, and a low growl rumbled in the wolf's throat.

Finally, Louis blew a rapid series of trills.

Cold Fang abruptly stopped, scanned the surroundings warily, then released the target and swiftly retreated to Louis's side.

The whole sequence was smooth and crisp, already showing some ability to coordinate tactically.

Louis nodded in satisfaction and reached out to stroke Cold Fang's neck.

"Well done," he said softly, then took a piece of cut meat from his waist and held it out to Cold Fang.

Cold Fang licked those sharp fangs but did not immediately lunge for it.

Instead, the wolf first glanced at Louis. Only after confirming the master's permission did Cold Fang snap up the meat, a satisfied rumble rising in the wolf's throat.

"There's some discipline now." Aig, the beast trainer standing nearby, respectfully stepped forward, sounding pleased. "You're making faster progress taming this wolf than I expected.

"But getting Cold Fang to obey completely will still take more work. Tundra Wolves aren't like ordinary beasts, after all. Trust and obedience have to be built little by little."

"Yes, I know," Louis replied.

As Sif watched the Tundra Wolf in the training grounds, her expression slowly dimmed.

Back in her tribe, she had owned a Tundra Wolf too.

Solitary Moon.

She had raised that Tundra Wolf from a cub. They had hunted together, run through swirling snowstorms together, and kept each other warm on freezing nights...

But by now, Solitary Moon was probably already...

Sif's hand tightened unconsciously, her fingertips digging into her palm.

Dead.

Since waking from her coma, Sif had deliberately tried not to dwell on those tragedies, but she still could not help it.

Louis glanced at her, apparently noticing something was wrong, and asked gently, "What's the matter?"

Sif fell silent for a moment, but in the end, she could not keep it in. "I used to have a Tundra Wolf too. It's dead now."

Her voice was calm, as though she were stating something that had nothing to do with her.

Louis considered for a moment, then pointed toward a group of Tundra Wolf cubs in a distant enclosure. "Would you like to pick another one to raise?"

Sif froze, as though his words had not registered.

She looked at the fluffy little wolf cubs, some sitting and others lying down, nestled softly together.

Her gaze slowly passed over each one before settling on a little cub in the corner.

Its fur had a faint silvery-gray sheen, and its eyes were ice blue, bearing some resemblance to the Solitary Moon of her memories.

She stepped forward and gently held out her hand.

The cub timidly sniffed her fingertips, then cautiously stuck out its tongue and licked her palm.

In that instant, it was as though she had been pulled out of the maze of her memories.

Sif's eyes reddened slightly, and her fingertips slowly stroked the cub's soft fur. "From now on, your name will be Solitary Moon."

The little wolf gave a soft whimper, as though answering her.

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.

As the training continued, the night deepened.

Standing at the edge of the training grounds, Louis stretched casually and turned to Sif. "That's all for today's work. Remember to write down my schedule when you get back."

Sif nodded, then turned and returned to her little room.

As one of only three literate people in the territory, she possessed a rare skill, so Louis had specifically arranged a room of her own.

She had not brought the little wolf back yet, because it had not fully accepted her as its master.

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

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

In the morning, the lord personally trained the soldiers, who held him in great respect.

The lord inspected the farmland and fisheries, offering suggestions for their development.

He showed concern for the injured knights and promised to provide better medicine.

He discovered the potential of Birch Sugar and attempted to promote the development of the sugar industry.

After finishing her record of Louis's day, Sif stared at the lines for a long while, mixed emotions stirring in her heart.

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

Wherever he went, he was respected.

Her pen touched another sheet of paper, and she wrote a few words-he was a good person.

After writing it, she looked at the sentence and suddenly felt reluctant to admit it. With a stubborn little huff, she muttered, "He's probably putting on an act."

But deep down, she no longer believed that.

She casually popped a piece of Birch Sugar into her mouth.

The sweetness melted across her tongue, carrying a faint, distinctive fragrance of wood.

Sif leaned back in her chair and murmured softly, "Mm, so sweet."