There was nothing more they could do aside from waiting out the storm. Water continued to pour from the open sky, making vision near impossible as he and Lorcán returned to the group with Kisla in tow. Inna and her little crow were nowhere to be seen. A frown cut deep against his pale maw, his shoulders sagging. She must have escaped the storm—the Baranski was smart; she would not remain in her den. She would have gone as far away from the river as she was able to, for Oksana was her first priority. XIX knew she would stay close-ish, for it was difficult to navigate through the storm and she would not risk getting separated from the wolves of the Kingswood.

Aytigin’s voice pulled him away from his thoughts, causing his brows to narrow. He hesitated, unsure of whether him leaving the group was a good idea or not. The tawny healer spoke up almost immediately, announcing that the Baranski had already abandoned her den with Oksana in tow. Just as he had thought. Good. Lorcán had thrown his muzzle to the sky, calling out for the raven and her daughter, but worry pulsed through his chest. “I don’t know if she’ll be able to hear you above the storm,” he called out to the healer, his frown still deep. “She wouldn’t have gone far. They must’ve have headed west, closer to the lowlands; away from the river.” His tail twitched with uncertainty. “If you want to look for her, go. Be safe and watch your footing. Stay clear of the water.” He spoke to Aytigin, his words dripping with concern, for he worried the storm would claim the ebony male.