Inside, it was suddenly quiet. Well, quieter.
The smell of wet leather, wood smoke from our packed supplies, and the scent of four damp adults filled the small space.
"Phew," Fenric puffed, wiping rain from his eyes. He sat down heavily, his shoulder brushing against the tent wall. "Talk about a close call."
The space was small. With the four of us and the cubs, we were packed in like sardines. I crawled over to the basket, checking on the little ones. They were wide-eyed and silent, their ears pinned back by the terrifying sound of the thunder.
"It's okay," I whispered, pulling the basket into the center of our huddle. "The thunder doesn't bite. It's just loud. We're completely safe." I kept whispering to them, hoping my solemn voice would drown the thunder that was frightening them.
But then it rumbled again and they dug themselves into my embrace, even finding their way into my coat.
"Whoa!"
