Wrench, too, is quick to recognize the thunder for what it isn't. He's been caught in the midst of plenty of storms in his life, but he's never felt thunder quite like that. It doesn't roll in evenly; there are too many breaks and interruptions. Not that he has the first clue what it is, but when the big man in the corner rises up with a surprising sense of urgency, Wrench is quick to follow. He's been keeping away from the food despite the near-lavish amounts of the stuff, but he's helped himself to a couple of glasses of mead. That all gets set aside now in favor of investigation.

On the threshold of the homestead, the passel breaks through the treeline and Wrench watches like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. At least he knows what the hell they are, which is more than he can say for everything that poured out of the rifts a few weeks back. He's starting to get the sense that Solvunn might just be one wild animal attack after another. Aloy's probably got bows and arrows around and Wrench wouldn't mind getting his hands on one again, but for now he takes what he has on him.

Which happens to be a particularly compact tomahawk. It's kind of a once-and-done affair, but when he sees one of the boars approaching Sandor as the man buries a sword in another, Wrench aims and flings the weapon, sending it sailing and burying it just behind the shoulder of one of the things, straight into its heart.