I don't trust mountains [Mini-plot]

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.