It had been a few days since Björn had been accepted into the ranks of Horizon Ridge, and while Björn though Ragnar in truth, had no intentions of dragging Týr into the apex of his plans simply out of a twisted desire to protect him, had been rather proud of how well he had played the “looking for my lost son” card when in reality Björn had not lost Sveinn. It had went against some ancient, primal, inherently feral instinct in Björn to submit to another and yet he had sunk low to the ground before the boy king as Björn had done his own King before he had usurped him months later. Ambition, desire, greed, and the expansion of his culture (and perhaps the expansion of his bloodlines while he was at it) spurred the clever and feral beast into action. Björn’s days up to the current point in time had been consumed with observing, hunting, and resting. Scarred right ear twitched within the confines of the makeshift den he had claimed as his own temporarily, before another noise was picked up by his acute hearing and cautiously the beast shrugged out of his den, squinting caribbean blue eyes as he glimpsed around him, seeing no source for the noise until the earth began to tremble violently beneath his paws, his balance staggering as the tremors, accompanied by what he knew now to be a full force cascade of rocks and snow rushing towards him as the sound caused a defenseless deafness.

Scarred earth was left in the rock slide’s wake, Björn watched before the veil of dust and raining pebbles obscured his vision as he, playing the puppet to his fight or flight instincts as he ran away from the rock slide, pushing himself with the aid of adrenaline which made his body feel weightless, keeping the burn of the muscles from hindering him; but Björn was a warrior, he had endurance (while he lacked in speed due to his size) and it was his endurance and the choice of life over death kept encouraging him to push forward out of harm’s way.

As he ran a sharp cut of rock fell through the hair and collided with his right shoulder, causing his steps to falter as a pained snarl ripped from between teeth bared as the skin of his muzzle wrinkled back as he glimpsed back to see crimson blood spill warm and sticky down in to his platinum silver fur, black, leathery nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scent of his own wound. Instincts told him he was not clear of danger yet and ignoring the white hot pain he pushed himself onwards as he had been taught to do fight until death. Pain was just weakness leaving the body, anyhow, and as he pushed himself harder, the pain numbing.

The landslide felt like it lasted for a lifetime, but when it eventually stopped, and there was nothing but unsettled dust creating a fog all around him, Björn finally stopped to catch his breath, his sides heaving with each heavy pant, the pain of his shoulder paramount at the drain of adrenaline from his system. It claimed his attention, and he glimpsed back, inspecting it closer now. From what he could see it was deep and bleeding though the loss of blood was not anything that he felt was dire. He felt a little feint but shook it off. He was a Viking and they did not faint because of pain - after all he had seen and had a lot worse. If he had something hot he could get the medic to cauterize it but unless a fire had magically started, or they happened to have something scolding hot the healing process would take time. He glimpsed around him, having found himself on the shores of Horizon Ridge, and the Nord moved towards the rising and ebbing tide, pausing to lap up the salt water though he did not drink it.

He was aiming to do a little bit of ‘field surgery’ on himself until he could get to the medic. If they were even still alive, came the morbid but realistic thought. Björn did not candy coat anything, and as it stood right now, he could very well be the only one to make it out alive of the disaster.

He craned his neck back and attempted to rinse what he could reach of the wound with the salt water he collected into his mouth, his toes flexing into the sand and the salt water burned the wound which already was hurting so bad it felt like it was literally on fire. Sharp teeth gritted together as he let out a grunt of pain before he shook his head fiercely, shaking it off. He did this a few more times, until his right fore leg was shaking from the pain and trauma to the shoulder. Breath hissed from between clenched jaw, quick and deep. He was mid breath when a mournful howl rose into eerily silent lands, breaking through the bubble of their own world they had been violently thrown into. Scarred and unmarred ears thrust back as he attempted to gauge the origins of the call before he took a deep breath and headed in that direction, limping heavily. He did not push himself this time, and arrived to see two females and a creature that looked like it was half buried in rubble. Their leader was no where to be found, and the Viking Jarl studied the two women, catching what the fawn colored girl was telling the hybird. “Then don’t move him,” Accented words slipped from his lips, his voice gruff and guttural with pain. “I will attempt to move what I can of the rubble.” He might feel no kinship to these strangers but the Viking would not let them stay here to die. His wound could be fixed but if the wolf half buried wasn’t already dead or dying the longer he stayed under there fate would not be any kinder to him.

Björn’s calm demeanor and level headedness was attributed to his numerous times in the aftermath of a battle, in the sweltering heat or trepid cold standing amidst a sea of bodies living and dead. The air was often polluted with the smell of decay and the pungent odor of blood that the earth was soaked in. Above flocks of ravens would circle, their screams protestant of the wolves who lingered to bury their dead as the ravens would land and pick at the ravaged remains of the losers. Odinn, one eyed, with Huginn and Muninn perched atop either shoulder, would appear like a ghostly apparition before Björn though no other of his comrades saw the God and take the souls to Valhalla. Simply, Björn had seen far worse than this, had caused far worse than this during raids. He was not moved by disasters, no longer understood panic when it came to such things. A low whine riding on the breath of a pant echoed from a small cave, causing scarred and unscarred ears to thrust forward and swivel back.

The hybird took command at that point, speaking her theories and addressing him to aid her despite that Björn had already spoke that he would help her. She then gave some orders to the girl, which unconcerned to him the Viking tuned out as he moved, stifling his limp as best he could, to the hybrid woman’s side, assessing the rock that it seemed the creature stuck in the cave-like thing was caught under. A firm nod was given to her as she suggested they tackle it. Unfortunately, they were not gifted with the right body parts to lift it so their only choice seemed to be rolling it. “We should pick a direction to roll it or else we’d be working against one another and will only cause him more pain.” It was likely going to be bad all the way around, but Björn kept this negativity to himself.

Giving her a long look, figuring they should both just push it they way they were - side by side - so they would be working together, the Viking bowed his head and putting his strength and weight into his shoulders began to push at it, ears slicking back against his skull as his blood smeared along the rock, and trickled down more furiously from his wound, but Björn simply used the pain as a fuel, until he was putting all his weight and strength into the rock, feeling it give more and more against Pump and his’ weight.

The ebony creature that had been trapped by the rock that, together, Pump and him had worked to move, had came out of the crevice he had been stuck in, and then promptly collapsed to the ground. The Viking watched the women rush to the ebony man’s side fussing and fawning over him as Björn made his way down the collection of rocks and boulders, pebbles clattering nosily down as he limped down it, glad when his paws touched solid ground once more. Orders were given to the fawn colored maiden that the Savage largely ignored for they did not pertain to him not to mention despite his horrendously basic ability to use ‘field surgery’ tactics to keep his wounds bound over until he could seek a healer’s attention he offered no further help to the broken ebony male. Caribbean blue eyes, sharp with the pain he was largely working to ignore from the deep gash in his shoulder met the hybrid’s gaze as she spoke to him.

Right. Survivors.

“I will begin searching right away,” Björn accepted, heading in a direction opposite of the little group to begin his search.