Jörmungandr had hoped that the wolves that had been plaguing the other islands would stay there and not bother with Luthien. She had not seen or smelled them during her explorations with Joukahainen, barely a hint even when she returned to the herd's side full time. It seemed in an instant, they suddenly descended. Perhaps those being driven from the other islands had found themselves washing up on her shore. She does not like it, not one bit. She knows how difficult wolves can be in the forest with so much coverage to conceal themselves and she knows that she and Lyden will need a strategy to drive them away from the herd. She had chased off the odd lone wolf but if faced with a pack, she would not be so lucky.

She makes her rounds of the immediate area, trying to push stragglers closer together. She only found a small trace of Azazel and hopes she has not fallen victim to a pack. If she could get everyone in one place it would make things much easier. She snorted, rounding in a wide arc but found little evidence of anyone,  hopefully they were moving closer together. If she can get them to the water and if they stuck together they would be a less likely target. They could even drive the main pack away as a team. She had seen a large deer population in the thicket, if they drove the wolves there, the herd would be safe.

As she continues her arc, the metallic stink of blood catches in her nostrils. Her ears flick back and her heart beats faster in her chest. Has someone fallen victim to the wolves? Tensing, she moves quickly and stealthily through the trees, keen to keep silent so she could dispatch of the wolf if it still lingered. As she reaches the water however,  she spots Lyden out in the open, submerged up to his neck with blood tinging the water around him. Her jaw tenses and she nickers to him, entering the water to join him.

He seems not quite with it and she does not want him sleeping here in case his head drops below the surface. She reaches down, her muzzle brushing his.
"What have you done to yourself?" There was an unfamiliar softness in her voice, concern evident. "Can you get up? How bad is it?" she asks, dropping to her knees first and then positioning herself so that his head would rest on her back. She twists to try and see for herself, but the blood obscures her view. She can see his pale skin is inflamed by the sun however and knows the water will only reflect the sun's rays and make it worse. She eyes the muddy bank, if she could get him there where it is shaded she could get a look at and clean the wound (or wounds, she still cannot see how bad it is). The mud would also be useful to sooth the inflammation and to provide a barrier to hold the wounds closed - a lesson she had learned from her sire's herd.