His own wounds were not of a consequence - had not even been spared a glimpse (mostly because he hadn’t even felt the bear’s claws shredding and slicing through the flesh) - the muscle was fidgeting, and he was vaguely aware that there was something warm rolling down his leg but his attention, while momentarily claimed by his Priestess’ arrival on the scene - stupid and courageous as he thought it was - had called the attention of the Berserker’s blood fury. Nerian yelled at him, her foreign words lost upon the Northman - as if he had suddenly forgotten that he could fluently speak and understand the common tongue - in his drug induced battle state. The bear came for a vengeful attack on Pump then, her loud yelp splicing through the noise of the battle, the snarls and growls and roars from both parties. For the briefest of moments it chilled Ragnar’s blood, and he was then, for the briefest of seconds aware of the pain that shot white hot through his back leg as if someone had suddenly lit it on fire but in the next hairsbreadth of a second it was gone and Ragnar focused upon the bear as it went for a second attack at Pump.
The Viking rushed it then as Nerian barked out orders to Gavriil, slamming his weight (which was very little against the bulk and muscle of the bear) into it’s torn shoulder, in the hopes of getting it’s attention away from Pump at the same time that Nerian attempted to lure it away. As Nerian’s decoy worked he moved towards Pump attempting to coax his hybrid leader to her paws. Priestess, It was a forlorn thought, a prayer to Thor to keep her safe though her chances did not look all that well. Faced with the idea of losing her to the bear caused the Viking, when he reflected upon it later, to feel grief; but there was no feeling now, nothing but the drugs and the blood frenzy that would need to wear off before he would allow Thistle to tend to his wounds (not to mention he would insist that she tend to Pump first).