The growl splits into three distinct voices of varying pitches and Warsman claps a hand to his head with a thin gasp. His fingers find feathery blond hair and it occurs him him vaguely that he's left his helmet behind, and that his head is worryingly exposed, but there's no helping that now.

The figure lurches towards him, and before he can stop himself he's narrowing the gap between them. "D-don't say I didn't warn you!" Russian again, but it's hard to care when he's moving into seize the figure in a rib-crushing bear-hug.