"Well, that underwear is objectively sexy," he said with a laugh, bending over and kissing her shoulder.  But an interesting, even a fascination, with the Old World was something they shared.  As a scout, Geraint had seen more of it, investigated more of it, than most werewolves - and there were things of constant wonder.  Machines that could fly, or travel into the space above the sky, of mechanical men, of deadly weapons but also miraculous cures.  Everywhere he went, he found remnants of unimaginable wealth, and beauty, and ease.<br/><br/>All gone.  It could not survive.  Something about that ease and wealth and beauty nurtured something malignant beyond measure - the dreadful weapons that had broken and poisoned the world.<br/><br/>"So, he can deliver.  The next question is... will he?  Or what would it take for him to deliver?  What do we have to do so he doesn't kill us, or enslave us, or something worse - that we're free and able to use the gifts he's offering?  If we're willing to take that risk at all, to save your parents, for instance.  If he's telling the truth about them."