Newt had been leading the way at first, but after only a few steps, he slowed down and eventually fell behind.
Without realizing it, he was already walking shoulder to shoulder with Fenrir the werewolf, chattering away as though he were speaking to a shy new friend.
"Oh, don't be afraid, don't be afraid... I was too abrupt. That magnifying glass really was a little frightening, wasn't it? I apologize, truly... Look, I've put it away."
"Oh, right! You must be hungry... Wizet hasn't told me what you like to eat yet! Let me see... Raw meat? Or do you prefer it cooked?"
"Some magical creatures are terribly picky. Take our Moller, for instance—it only eats half-cooked chicken livers..."
"I'm very good at frying chicken livers like that. When you cut them open, there has to be a little blood still inside, and they need to retain a bit of that raw smell. Isn't that interesting? Oh! I've gone off on a tangent again..."
"Your name is Fenrir... What a fine name. Wizet must be very good at naming things, isn't he..."
Listening to Newt Scamander's stream of chatter, Wizet pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, while Luna chuckled softly and scratched the palm of Wizet's hand with her finger.
The wooden door opened with a creak, and a tall witch stepped outside. Her hair was entirely silver, and she wore a thick robe.
Her gaze first fell upon Wizet and Luna, and she offered them a warm smile.
Then she lifted her head slightly and looked at Newt Scamander, who was still talking to Fenrir the werewolf, with a mixture of helplessness and indulgence in her eyes.
"Newt, if you don't lead the way properly, our guests may stand there until dark and still fail to find