Harley the Cunning Wolf

As the saying went, even a hero could be stumped by a lack of a few coins. Since transmigrating, Ghost had not only felt the pinch of poverty, but had also experienced what it was like to play "Don't Starve" in real life.

Her body was convenient, but it was also far too quick to get hungry. Who would have thought that she, despite looking like an eight-year-old loli, actually ate as much as two grown men? Times were so hard that she often couldn't even get a bite of meat, and she was considering taking wolf form to hunt and help provide for the family.

But she wasn't a proper wolf and knew nothing about hunting. Even setting aside her lack of skill, if she did get lucky as hell and catch something, how would she explain it to Mesha and the others?

Say a rabbit or some other animal had run into a tree and died?

How could any animal be that stupid??!!

Useless as a wolf and incapable, Ghost could only start by helping with whatever was within her abilities.

One day, Mesha was driving the flock out as usual when Ghost hurried over. "Auntie Mesha, can I help you tend the sheep? You're so tired. Why don't you take a break?"

Deeply moved, Mesha stroked Ghost's doggy head. "Arya, you're such a good girl. Auntie isn't tired."

Then she gently turned her down.

Tending sheep was hard work. Since they couldn't afford feed, they had to take the flock out to graze. The grassy meadows the sheep liked were a long way off, so the trip there and back was long, and the flock had to be watched closely and constantly driven along. Otherwise, the sheep would wander off and get lost.

Old Bill worked as a carpenter in town, so tending the sheep fell to Mesha. Besides looking after the flock, she had housework and odd jobs to do, and she was exhausted every day.

Ghost tried a different approach. "Then let me come with you, Auntie. Will you teach me first? I want to help you."

Figuring it would be an outing, Mesha took her along.

And sure enough, the lambs that usually ran around disobediently all became meek at the sight of Ghost. They didn't dare run off, and were almost unbelievably obedient when told to go or stop.

Mesha was astonished and once again felt that Ghost was worthy of being a noble lady, learning even how to tend sheep so quickly. She even clapped her hands dramatically. "Arya, you're so clever! The lambs all like you so much."

Ghost: ...

Noble ladies' reputations are taking a hit here. Auntie, you really see me through rose-colored glasses. Those lambs don't like me-they're clearly shaking with fear...

After Ghost accompanied her a few times, Mesha felt comfortable leaving the flock in her care. Children from poor families learned responsibility early, and if Ghost could help, that was for the best.

Mesha wanted to use the time she freed up to mend clothes and tend the fields, as well as make Ghost a few new outfits.

Besides wanting to help, Ghost also wanted to go out and see if she could find anything to eat.

But the temperature was still low, and there was almost nothing to be found in the wild. She did, however, unexpectedly discover quite a few molehills.

Ghost licked her lips, wondering whether they tasted as good as bamboo rats.

While Ghost was trying to figure out how to catch moles, Harley the Cunning Wolf found Old Bill in town.

Harley wrapped an arm around the unsuspecting Old Bill from behind and patted his shoulder with a show of affection.

"Old Bill, how have you been lately? Lost any more livestock?"

Somewhat flattered, Old Bill hunched his shoulders. "Thanks to you, Lord Harley, we haven't lost any more sheep."

"Hahaha, that's good."

"How's that child from the other day?"

At the mention of Ghost, Old Bill gave a guileless smile. "My wife and I both like her very much. She lives with us now."

Harley narrowed his eyes. "Mm, that's good. So, have you noticed anything strange lately?"

Seeing the baffled look on Old Bill's face, he added, "For example, have you heard any beasts howling?"

"No, I haven't. The nights have all been quiet lately." Old Bill thought hard.

Harley smiled, patted Old Bill hard again, then turned and walked away.

Harley emerged from the bustling alley and headed for the inner castle, where a red banner bearing a flayed man flew. The guards at the entrance opened the iron gate and let him straight in.

Inside the castle, all sorts of eyes turned toward Harley, accompanied by whispers.

"...Bastard..."

"It's that baseborn wretch..."

"Harley Snow... that lowborn hunter."

Harley paid them no mind and strode into the lord's stronghold, a fortress built from countless enormous blocks of marble.

In the room stood a large, long table, a rare piece fashioned from a single slab of black stone. Nobles filled the seats on either side, and Harley's abrupt entrance interrupted the meeting in progress.

"My honored lord, I have an important matter to discuss with you." Harley removed his wolf-head cap and offered a less than respectful greeting.

"Who allowed you to barge in?!" The young man beside the lord sprang to his feet in a rage. "Guards! Guards!"

"Roose Bolton, sit down." The gaunt old man seated at the head of the table spoke slowly and quietly, yet somehow gave off an oppressive air.

"Everyone else, out."

Only three people remained in the vast room. Harley unceremoniously propped his legs on the table. "I want to fight for House Bolton in next month's hundred-man melee."

The young man roared, "Impossible, you lowborn-"

"Roose, get out too." The lord bluntly cut Roose Bolton off.

The young man trembled all over with anger, but he dared say no more and swept out. As he left, he shot Harley a venomous glare.

The old man said slowly, "You have five minutes to convince me."

Harley Snow gave a scornful snort. This sly old bastard won't cast his net until he sees a big fish.

"I've found a real Skinchanger. Is that enough?"

The old man, bundled in bulky but luxurious clothes and draped in heavy furs, lifted his eyelids. He slowly turned and threw a few logs into the blazing fireplace.

"Harley Snow. Children in the North stop believing those old grannies' dull legends as soon as they stop wetting their beds."

"Or did that foolish drunkard of a foster father of yours see a Skinchanger or a Warg in the Wolfswood with his own eyes? Are you sure it wasn't an illusion brought on by drink and fear?"

Harley the Cunning Wolf clenched his fists, a flush rising to his face. The old man's words filled him with bone-deep humiliation-even though the man before him was his birth father, he looked down on Harley just like everyone else... and even thought he had sullied the blood of the flayed men.

Harley sprang to his feet and said coldly, "I'll find proof. And you'd better tell your little brat to stop making trouble for me. It wouldn't be good if one day my arrow flew at him out of my control."

The old man said nothing more. Instead, his head drooped, and he appeared to fall asleep.