At first, Newt led the way in front, but after only a few steps, his pace slowed, and in the end he fell behind.
Before anyone realized it, he was already walking shoulder to shoulder with the Fenrir Werewolf, muttering away again as though speaking to a shy new friend.
"Oh, don't be afraid, don't be afraid... I was being presumptuous. That magnifying glass really was a little frightening, wasn't it? I apologize, truly... Look, I've put it away."
"Right! You must be hungry... Vizet still hasn't told me what you like to eat! Let me see... raw meat? Or do you prefer it cooked?"
"Some magical creatures are very picky. Take our Mole, for example. It only eats half-cooked chicken liver..."
"I'm very good at frying chicken liver like that. When you cut it open, it has to have streaks of blood inside, and a bit of a gamey smell. Isn't that interesting? Oh! I've gone off topic again..."
"Your name is Fenrir... What a good name. Looks like Vizet is very good at naming things, doesn't it..."
Listening to Newt Scamander's endless stream of muttering, Vizet pressed his lips together to hold back a laugh, while Luna let out a soft chuckle and scratched Vizet's palm with her finger.
The wooden door opened with a creak, and a tall, straight-backed witch pushed it open and stepped out. Her hair was silver, and she wore a thick robe.
Her gaze first fell on Vizet and Luna, and she gave them a warm smile.
Then she lifted her head slightly, her eyes carrying a trace of helpless indulgence, and looked toward Newt Scamander, who was still talking to the Fenrir Werewolf.
"Newt, if you don't start leading the way properly, our guests may still not have found the front door