As the saying goes, even a hero can be stumped by a single penny. Ever since her transmigration, Ghost felt not only stumped by pennies, but also what it was like to play "Don't Starve" in real life.
This body of hers was convenient in some ways, but it could not handle hunger at all. Who could have imagined that someone who looked like an eight-year-old loli actually had an appetite comparable to two grown men? Her days were now so miserable that she rarely even got to eat a piece of meat, and she was even contemplating whether to turn into her wolf form and go out hunting to contribute to the household expenses.
Yet she was not a proper wolf, and she knew nothing about hunting. Leaving aside her lack of skill, even if she had a stroke of sheer luck and caught something, what excuse could she give Mesa and the others?
Would she say a rabbit or some other animal had simply run into a tree and died by itself?
How could there possibly be such a brain-dead animal?!
A useless wolf and helpless Ghost could only start by helping out with things within her power.
On this day, Mesa drove the flock of sheep out as usual, and Ghost hurried forward. "Aunt Mesa, let me herd the sheep for you, okay? You're too tired, take a rest?"
Deeply moved, Mesa stroked Ghost's dog-like head. "Arya is such a good child, but Auntie isn't tired."
Then she gently declined the offer.
Looking after a flock of sheep was exhausting work. Because they could not afford feed, the sheep had to be driven out to pasture and graze freely. The grassy meadows the sheep liked were very far away, requiring a long walk there and back, and someone had to keep a close eye on the flock to drive them constantly, otherwise the sheep would wander off and get lost.
Old Bill's job was to work as a carpenter in town, so herding the sheep fell entirely to Mesa. Besides tending the sheep, she had other housework and odd jobs to do, leaving her exhausted every single day.
Ghost tried a different approach. "Then I'll go with Auntie, teach me first, okay? I want to help you."
Thinking of it as a way to clear her mind, Mesa took her along.
And to her surprise, that usually disobedient and wandering flock of little sheep became completely docile upon seeing Ghost, not daring to roam at all, obeying every command to move or stop in the most obedient manner imaginable.
Mesa was astonished, once again feeling that Arya truly deserved to be a noble young lady, learning even herding so quickly. She even clapped her hands exaggeratedly. "Arya is so smart! The little lambs all like you so much."
Ghost: ...
*(A noble young lady's reputation is in ruins, Auntie, your filter is way too heavy. The little lambs don't like me at all, they're clearly trembling with fear, alright...)*
After following along a few times like this, Mesa felt at ease leaving the flock in Ghost's care for grazing. The children of the poor mature early, and since Ghost could help out, it was for the best.
Mesa wanted to use her free time to mend clothes and tend the fields, and by the way, make a few new outfits for Ghost.
Aside from wanting to help, Ghost actually wanted to go out and see if she could find anything to eat.
However, the temperature was still very low, and there was almost nothing in the wild. Instead, she unexpectedly discovered quite a few mole burrows.
She wondered if these creatures tasted better than bamboo rats, Ghost licked her lips.
While Ghost was figuring out how to catch moles, Harley the Sly Wolf found Old Bill in town.
Harley wrapped his arm around an unsuspecting Old Bill from behind, patting his shoulder with feigned familiarity:
"Old Bill, how have things been lately? Did the livestock get lost again?"
Old Bill shrank his neck, feeling flattered. "Thanks to your blessing, Lord Harley, the sheep at home haven't been lost since."
"Hahaha, good."
"That kid from the other day, how is she?"
Mentioning Ghost, Old Bill wore an honest smile. "My wife and I both like her very much, and she lives with us now."
Harley narrowed his eyes. "Mm, that's a good thing. Well, have you noticed anything strange lately?"
Seeing Old Bill's blank expression, Harley added, "For instance, have you heard the howling of wild beasts?"
"N-No? The nights have been very peaceful lately." Old Bill thought hard about it.
Harley smiled, gave Old Bill another heavy pat on the shoulder, and walked away.
Harley threaded his way out of the bustling, crowded alley and headed toward the inner city, which was flying the red flayed man banner. The guards at the gate directly opened the iron iron gates to let him in.
Various gazes in the inner city cast toward Harley, accompanied by whispers.
"...bastard..."
"...that worthless spawn..."
"...Harley Snow... a lowly hunter."
Harley turned a blind eye, striding into the lord's fortress, which was built of countless huge blocks of marble.
Inside the room stood a rare, wide long table carved from a single piece of solid black stone. Nobles sat on both sides, and Harley's abrupt intrusion interrupted the ongoing meeting.
"Respected Lord, I have important business to discuss with you." Harley took off his wolf-head cap and gave a less-than-respectful salute.
"Who gave you permission to barge in?!" The youth beside the lord stood up angrily. "Guards! Guards!"
"Roose Bolton, sit down." The thin, withered old man sitting at the head of the table had a quiet voice and a slow pace, yet he radiated an inexplicable sense of oppression.
"Everyone else out."
In the vast room, only three people remained. Harley propped his legs up on the table without a shred of politeness. "Next month's hundred-man melee, I want to represent House Bolton."
The youth shouted, "Impossible, you lowly..."
"Roose, get out as well." The lord unceremoniously cut Roose Bolton off.
The youth was trembling with rage, but he dared not say anything more. He swept his sleeves and left, casting a sinister glare at Harley as he departed.
The old man slowly said, "Give me five minutes to convince me."
Harley Snow let out a disdainful sneer; this old, withered fox never cast his net without seeing a big fish.
"I've found a real skinchanger. Is that enough?"
The old man, dressed in bulky yet luxurious attire and draped in heavy furs, lifted his eyelids. He slowly turned around and tossed a few logs into the blazing fireplace.
"Harley Snow. The children of the North stop believing old grandmothers' boring legends the moment they stop wetting the bed."
"Or could it be that your foolish, drunken foster father once saw with his own eyes that skinchangers or beast-tongues exist in the Ghost Forest? Are you certain that wasn't just an illusion brought on by alcohol and fear?"
Harley the Sly Wolf clenched his fists, a rush of heat flooding his face. He felt a bone-deep humiliation from the old man's words—even though the person before him was his biological father, he looked down on him just like everyone else... and even believed he had tainted the blood of the Flayed Men.
Harley stood up abruptly and said coldly, "I will find proof. And you had better keep your little cub from constantly picking trouble with me. It wouldn't be good if my arrow accidentally flew toward him one of these days."
The old man said nothing more, letting his head droop as if he had fallen asleep.