Once a storm had settled over the Grotto that consisted of violent thunder and wicked lightning. It had left a permanent impression upon him after having found Azariah that time. His soul had been complete and yet, it wasn't that he needed completion. It was, to him, a sign that she was his, and a slap in his face when she recoiled from him every time. For her he had given patience and an ear but she was one to never be satisfied and Blackthorne had never been a wolf to worry about satisfying anyone but himself. Two years had passed and he had grown into an adult, leaving behind that time of change and becoming something darker, meaner, stronger. He was a lithe creature full of deadly grace and cleverness, a combination that had won him Iromar and the loyalty of all his wolves who had accompanied him.

His charcoal eyes flash as lightning snakes across the sky, illuminating the odd colored clouds moments before the funnel spins down. From atop a boulder he can see the ground funnel up to meet it, an strange occurrence that has his breath coming in excited pants, ears pricked forward and fur bristled from the electricity in the air. The screech of the funnel can be heard as it impacts the first trees and even with the rain, with the wind, he can see trees spinning in that vortex. Powerful, unstoppable, and heading his direction.

The Darkbringer leaves his perch with ease, steps confident but not too swift for he has plenty of distance from the tornado. When it hit he would be in shelter, smoking out all the little rats of the grotto, searching for more or for less. Whichever came first.

More is what he finds as he coils around into an entrance, his sleek fur brushing against the stony wall as he turns, pausing as the recent scent of Raum's marking burns in his nostrils. Blackthorne does not attempt to conceal his steps as he moves inward although one might mistake the noises as part of the tornado that screeched ever closer outside or the wind whistling through the caverns. He pauses to exam a bone collection full of tiny skulls, larger bones, a myriad of things that bespoke a creature not quite right.

But he loved wrong.

The sound of movement makes his ears flick and he turns back towards the innards of the cavern, stepping further in until he sees the obsidian female twist in the air, throwing up a white piece of something then catching it. His charcoal eyes seem almost silver in the lightning, dim as it was, and he smirks while watching. The moment that she tosses the ear back up again, perhaps momentum carrying her, he lunges forward, leaping off the ground with jaw snapping out to try and catch it.