Marco looked at Douglas, his gaze earnest and resolute.
"It's not that I'm being arrogant and refusing to seek your help in person. The truth is, with my current identity, I simply cannot leave the Apennine Mountains."
"The Church has eyes everywhere, watching far too closely. If I show myself, not only would my own safety be in jeopardy, but I could also bring utter destruction upon the tribe."
"And even if I were lucky enough to evade the Church's eyes and ears, as a werewolf, I could never enter the United Kingdom's wizarding world without trouble to visit you."
"In the end, Isabella came up with a way. She said that perhaps, through Deputy Director Lorenzo, we could try to formally invite you for a visit in the name of the Italian Ministry of Magic.
"That would both conceal our intentions and offer you some measure of official protection. We simply never expected things to turn out even more... difficult than we had anticipated."
Marco's voice gradually deepened, the authority of a wolf pack's leader seeming especially profound in the flickering firelight.
The murmurs of tribe members drifted in from outside the cave.
Children were crying, and wounded warriors were stifling cries of pain.
Those sounds were like sharp daggers, each one reminding Marco that they had already lost too much.
He looked at the stone wall, a trace of guilt flashing in his eyes.
Douglas keenly caught that trace of guilt.
Marco's honesty had made the atmosphere inside the cave heavy, but it had also lent it a measure of sincerity.
Even that bowl of bitter mushroom soup seemed to have taken on a hint of complex human warmth because of his story.
Lupin held the bowl of soup, its steam misting his eyes.
Emotion surged within him.