After leaving the capital of the Anvil Kingdom, Gwof had nothing to miss and nowhere in particular he wanted to go, but he certainly didn't think about returning to the Wolf Kingdom—the world was so big, staying in one place all the time would be so boring.
He chose a path no one had taken before, heading in a direction that wasn't even marked on the map.
The snow had been thinned by the wind, revealing the blue-black soil beneath; the "crunching" sound underfoot mixed with the earthy scent, making it feel a bit more substantial than a path of pure snow.
Gwof walked in front, his wolf ears occasionally shaking off the bits of snow clinging to them beneath the brim of his hat.
Behind him, Liya's small leather shoes sank into the half-melted slush, the tips of her shoes coated in a layer of wet white, like pastries dusted with icing sugar.
He suddenly felt that this was what travel was supposed to be.
It wasn't like when they first set out, when he and Little Bottle had hurriedly transformed into two butterflies, frost forming on their wings, their eyes fixed only on the goal of "killing Bluebeard"; when they flew through the Plum Forest, his body was covered in red plum blossoms falling from the branches, and he hadn't even bothered to brush them off.
Back then, the wind was cold and his heart was restless, like he was carrying a ball of fire with nowhere to vent.
It was different now.
A bullfinch perched on a withered branch by the roadside, round and plump, tilting its head to peck at the snow clinging to the twig; it wasn't afraid of people, instead hopping to another branch and brushing off a patch of snow with its tail feathers, which fell onto the back of Gwof's hand with a cool sensation.
He stopped and watched the bullfinch flutter its wings, shaking snow all over itself, until Liya tugged on his sleeve and said "Let's go," before he followed with a smile.
Most of the snow on the ridges of the fields had melted, revealing green sprouts so tender they looked like they could be squeezed for water.
Liya crouched nearby counting the leaves, her small finger pointing at the tips: "One, two, three... Oh, this one has a little hole!"
He leaned against the trunk of an old locust tree and waited, watching the sunlight pass through her hair, dyeing it with a layer of golden mist, even the bits of snow on the tip of her nose sparkling.
"What's the rush?"
He thought to himself as his toe kicked a pebble half-buried in the snow; the pebble rolled half a meter away, splashing snow dust onto his boot... Snow particles whipped against his face with the wind, and Gwof pulled his neck in, pressing the brim of his hat even lower.
He looked down at Little Bottle by his feet—this Bald Strong Man was crouching on the ground, his large-knuckled hands rummaging through the withered yellow grass stems in the snow, black mud embedded in the gaps between his fingers and ice shards stuffed under his fingernails.
Hearing Gwof's call, he jerked his head up, his smooth skull gleaming dazzlingly in the sunlight like a polished copper lump.
"Go, ask the nearby Farmers if they have any horses or donkeys for sale."
Gwof's voice was wrapped in the wind, sounding a bit nonchalant as he kicked the snow at his feet, sending it falling.
Little Bottle stood up with a "swish," the hem of his coarse cloth robe sweeping across the snow and kicking up a cloud of white.
He thumped his chest loudly and replied gruffly, "As you command! My master!"
That voice was like thunder, shaking a block of snow off a nearby shrub that landed on the snow with a "thud," splashing fine snow dust.
He subconsciously rubbed his smooth head and turned to run toward the distant village, his heavy boots making "squelch, squelch" thuds in the snow, like a clumsy bear on its way.
Watching Little Bottle's figure disappear into the snow mist, the corner of Gwof's mouth twitched upward, a hint of comfort flashing in his eyes.
Having such a Devil servant was indeed worry-free; he didn't have to bother thinking of how to word things or keep an eye on progress—once ordered, it would always be done with great vigor.
He was born lazy; if he could sit, he'd never stand, and if he could order someone else around, he'd never do it himself.
Then there was Liya; this Little Girl looked fragile, swaying whenever the wind blew—how could she endure the grind of walking through the snow?
It was only fitting to let Little Bottle run the errands.
Little Bottle's footsteps had long been swallowed by the wind and snow, leaving only a few blurred shouts occasionally drifting from a distance.
Liya had approached at some point, her small hand lightly resting on the back of his hand; the icy touch gave Gwof a start.
"Cold."
She smiled with her face tilted up, the snow particles on her eyelashes twinkling in the sunlight like scattered diamonds.
"My fingertips are frozen numb."
Gwof looked down at her hands—they were tiny, her knuckles red from the cold, like cherries soaked in ice water.
He took them in his, subconsciously tightening his grip; the warmth of his palm slowly seeped through, warming that bit of chill little by little.
The two of them walked slowly, stepping in the footprints left by Little Bottle; the sunlight passed through the bare poplar branches, casting mottled shadows on the snow like scattered gold dust, the broken shadows swaying gently when the wind blew.
"Where are we going?"
Liya suddenly looked up, the snow on her eyelashes falling onto the tip of her nose with a cool sensation.
"I don't know."
Gwof looked back at her, his wolf ears under his hat brim twitching slightly, catching the silence in the wind.
"Wherever we end up."
Liya gave an "oh" and didn't ask again, only gripping his hand a bit tighter.
Distant houses sent up curls of cooking smoke, the blue-gray pillars rising crookedly in the wind; the snow on the roofs melted into droplets in the sun, dripping down from the eaves and forming strings of translucent icicles—some as long as half a foot, others like transparent teardrops—clinking together in the wind like a natural set of wind chimes.
Gwof suddenly felt that walking slowly like this wasn't bad.
Having a girl chattering beside him, one moment pointing at an icicle and saying it looked like crystal, the next saying snow had fallen on his head;
Having a Bald Strong Man running back and forth in front, his voice loud enough to startle the snow off the treetops;
The road ahead was hidden in the snow mist, unclear, yet every step was onto soft snow; listening to the light "crunch" beneath his feet was more flavorful than walking on a flat main road.
Gwof looked back at Liya's red-tipped nose, and on a sudden impulse, he raised his hand and made a beckoning motion in the air.
A handful of candies wrapped in sugar paper appeared out of thin air in his palm—red like hawthorn, green like mint, yellow like orange—wrapped in transparent glassine paper, glowing brightly against the snow like a handful of concentrated little rainbows.
"Here, warm your hands. Eat."
He stuffed the candies into Liya's hand.
Liya looked down, squeezing the candy wrappers, her knuckles exerting slight pressure to create fine creases in the paper, while the tips of her ears quietly turned red.
She picked a strawberry-flavored one; the wrapper was a pink and white checkered pattern, and when she peeled it, there was a light "crackle," the sweet fragrance spreading through the snowy air.
She didn't eat it immediately; instead, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed the candy into Gwof's palm.
"This one is the sweetest, for you."
Gwof held the round strawberry candy; the sugar coating slowly softened under his body heat, the sweetness burrowing into his heart through the gaps between his fingers.
He had just peeled the wrapper when he heard Little Bottle's loud voice from afar, sounding like a broken gong being struck.
"Master! There's a donkey! It's very sturdy! Its coat is sleek and shiny, and it can carry two people!"
He smiled and tossed the candy into his mouth; the sweetness of the strawberry mixed with the coolness of the snow, melting on the tip of his tongue.
As he led Liya toward that direction, the snow crunched beneath their feet, mixing with the distant sounds of Little Bottle and the Farmer laughing and shouting, a few dog barks...
And Liya's occasional quiet murmurs—"Look at that dog, its tail is curled like a flower."
"I wonder if the donkey will think I'm too heavy"—like a song without a score, a line here and a line there, yet more reassuring than any military music.
The wind was still blowing and the snow was still falling, but Gwof held her hand more steadily than ever.
He suddenly felt that this slow-paced journey was more memorable than rushing all the way—just like the sweetness in his mouth right now, seeping into his heart bit by bit, more flavorful than drinking a large bowl of wine.