Emberflame Ridge oh wrap the ground around

something is sliding closer. wardruna freezes, the muscles pulling taunt as he catches the flash of ruddy and red pelage and movement from the very corner of his functioning eye as lightening streaks across the sky. the earth vibrates with the resounding boom: the strike of the thunder god's anvil. the sound is glorious, like the summon of a war drum to the northman and it causes his fur to bristle as he relishes in the storm. he's always liked storms even if the evidence of lightning striking the forest he moves through — that the smaller wolf slides through — has him seeking shelter from it. he contemplates not stopping but lightening sizzles through the sky and strikes a tree nearby. the tree is on his blindside but he hears the unnerving sound of it strike the tree's flesh and the sizzle and smells the singing bark. it the flash momentarily blinds him and he instinctually careens in her direction to avoid being a living target of the lightening. in that unintentional move he feels obligated to offer some sort of help. the mud is slick and his legs, paws and underbelly are coated in it. a heavy sigh, lost in a secondary rumble of thunder expels from his lips. "come. get up." he means to encourage though it undoubtedly comes out more bossy than he intended as the common tongue words are heavy and thick on his tongue. he nears her and hesitates just short of touching her. he wants to nudge her but resists — she is not one of his wives, he reminds himself. "we are not safe here." he tells her despite that he assumes she has already gathered as much.