The sudden shift in the weight of his armor distracts him rather neatly; he's too busy scrabbling to catch himself as he abruptly lists sideways, and then struggling to rid himself of his now too-cumbersome-to-be-practical armor to take any note of which direction the girl runs off in, though he hears her go.

His struggles with his cuirass in particular also mean he misses the wolf over yonder turning back into a man. "Not-" with one last, vicious tug, the damned thing finally comes off and he lets it fall to the ground. "-directly."

With the cuirass off, it's easier to rid himself of the rest of the warped pieces. Luckily he wears a couple of layers underneath as padding, so he's not going to have to dash through the snow near-naked to find a change of clothes. Or barefoot - the buckles of his boots have taken on interesting new shapes, but the boots themselves are at least still wearable.

"That was the worst of it for me," he continues, gesturing at the mess of leather and steel that used to be perfectly serviceable armor. It's an annoyance, to be sure, but it's clear from his expression as he glances Hunter's way that he thinks the werewolf came off the worse in that little encounter.