Porcupine Ridge [m] So light your matches, and I will rise

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pp and implied major injuries are done with ooc permission!

THUNK
He hadn't even thought about it, hadn't the time to before he rammed into the ribcage of the assailant. He hadn't seen his face, hadn't seen his wife—
His wife. Blood, there is blood and screaming and her cries and—
You get the fuck away from her! a shout, piercing, roaring; red spots collide with his vision and he snarls, jagged-edged and merciless.
He wastes no time.
For what must have been the first time in his life, Boone's size is to his advantage. He is no wolf, but a bear, a feral creature devoid of humanity in this moment. He rips and he tears and he bashes and he swings, does whatever he possibly can to make this fucker's parents regret ever breathing life into his mangled figure. The man is left a clump of tri-colored fur; a heap, torn asunder, and Boone peels away soaked in ribbons of scarlet and with gashes that litter his shoulders and neck, blood singing, lungs aching, pupils pinpricked in a devouring rage.
Reverie.
When he first looks upon her, he barks out a choked, horrific sob; his wife, his beautiful wife — I'm gonna get you help, babygirl, asking questions was not his priority. Adrenaline courses every fiber of the helpless, frantic mountaineer as he scoops her in his arms, attempts to sling her over his back. A garbled string of it's okay, I'm here, I love you, it's okay—
Where the fuck was he going to go for help?