Fire...what else is there?

They drifted upwards, plowing through the remains as if they were the embodiment of their own Pulukria. The wood beneath his feet shifted and he moved quickly to find solidity beneath the timbers. There... a patch of earth remained. He hopped over to it and steadied himself before continuing onwards. The pressed closer towards the rim of their once home.

From the ridge, he looked down into the basin that was the Spine valley and founded completely flooded. The bowl of their home was filled so that only the tips of the tallest trees lingered above the surface. On it, broken trees floated. Some trunks were torn from the winds. Others appeared as charred pieces of driftwood lingering on the surface. These lands were drowned. The lake and natural springs overflowed and their natural exits were clogged from the soot, rains and trees. Unless they all magically gained gills and learned to breathe underwater, there was no way they could continue living here.

"Looks like we'll find Tonravik her snow after all," he mused, finally finding a stroke of optimism given the circumstances. They couldn't stay here. They'd be forced to travel. His mate wanted someplace cool and now they had the opportunity to find such a location.

His ears flicked towards Echelon's question. "I didn't see Aariak or Aupârtok," he said, but Salamander had been long missing. Perhaps she'd drifted away without notice before the storm. "Nanuk said she'd greeted a new wolf on our borders. I didn't see him either." The rest... The rest all appeared to have made it. That made eight of them in total. Eight wolves... to support a new pack wherever they ended up. Perhaps they could collect any loners along the way. Surly there were other wolves out there who needed the support of a group after a storm like this. Tragedy had an uncanny way of reminding wolves of the importance of banding together.