The Werewolves of the Ashen Claw broke into an irrepressible stir.
Marco had clenched his enormous fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He instinctively stepped forward, wanting to charge in.
Douglas stood at the Mine entrance.
He merely cast a calm glance over.
Marco's feet stopped dead, as though invisible chains had pinned them in place.
The young Werewolf children gazed at Lupin with something close to adoration.
Professor Lupin, who usually taught them knowledge and spells so gently, was now displaying something they had never seen before: the silent, powerful bearing of an alpha wolf.
In the distant shadows, Valerius folded his arms with interest.
Valerius stood some distance away. Unlike the Werewolves, he cared little about who won or lost. Instead, like a theater critic seated in a private box, he watched this primitive, bloody drama with keen interest.
He turned his head and spoke softly to Douglas beside him, his voice carrying just the right touch of flattery.
"Professor, the results of your teaching are truly impressive."
"You have successfully trained a battered sheep into a sheepdog capable of fighting a vicious wolf head-on."
Douglas kept his eyes on Lupin, his gaze seeming to record a set of crucial experimental data.
He did not look at Valerius.
"He isn't a sheepdog."
Douglas corrected him calmly.
"He is a future shepherd."
The smile on Valerius's face stiffened slightly.
A shepherd?
A sudden chill rose within him as he realized once again that the vision of the man beside him was far grander than he could imagine.
In the valley, Lupin's actions had utterly enraged Greyback.
To him, this was the greatest insult.
An offspring he had personally turned, a mongrel in his eyes, actually believed he could defeat him bare-handed.
"Good! Very good!"
He grinned savagely,