It took several seconds for the realization of what had transpired to fully register in the bear's head.

He had suddenly, and rather abruptly, been released from the clutches of his spell, then rather violently blasted down to the ground.

It had not been a graceful landing, and the standard pole was now a fractured and jagged bit of splintered wood sticking pitifully out of the water drenched soil. He himself was not far away, dazed as the world seemed to continue whirling, even after he had since stopped moving.  The realization that he had survived slowly came, as did comprehension that he was outside, in the aftermath of a violent storm that he no longer had any influence over, but was still every bit as dangerous.

His whole body hurt. His arms and legs protested movement to the point of near total refusal, yielding only under the strongest willpower he could muster, and then with the rest of his body in open revolt, threatening to make him lose consciousness if he kept at it. He sucked in a breath, and it was a mistake. A violent bout of vomiting assailed him, sending him into a shuddering, coughing convulsion, before collapsing in the mud again, having fallen over from the loss of equilibrium.

He laid there for several seconds, as the world slowly began to slow its spinning, and the rain fell.  He was cold. Tired. Wet...

Little by little, he carefully balanced breathing, and labored muddy crawling toward the blackened remains of the keep's outer door, as the world slowly stopped spinning.

He was a mud caked and rain soaked wreck of his former self, as he crawled through the gaping maw of the doorjam, and collapsed in a sodden heap on the floor among the spoiled, acid polluted remains of the fancy breakfast that had once sat regally upon the now equally despoiled dining table; itself in battered shambles of its former regal glory.

He was inside. That was all that mattered.  

Exhaustion overtook him, and he passed out.