Huh, I guess this part of the patrol is running. Hurry, hurry. After a bit, I feel like I need to get fitter. It has been a while since I was in the army; I am getting a little soft without all that marching! Round the corner of Blacksmith and Lodgings. Lodgings Road? Come on! Let's change it up with at least First or Second Street; it is plain, but it works. I have seen it in other cities and towns.

Now I can smell it—smoke. Not good honest chimney smoke. This has all the little nasty smells, from rugs and curtains, among other things. Well, that is not going to help me find my breath. As we turn the last corner, I see it. A whole apartment building is up in flames. Oh no, please don’t be—

I look around and then at the number. I am worrying about nothing; Pela’s apartment is on the other side of the residential area.

I hear something off in the distance: “Solo! What are you doing? Get over here and help!”

I shake off my mental fog and see the others helping people out of the ground floor, across the street to safety. Then, all of a sudden, I hear a small cry. It is coming from one of the stories with smoke pouring out of the windows. It sounds like a little child. I start moving towards the building; my feet are moving while I am in some strange state.

In the distance, I feel someone grab my arm. I think they are saying something about their daughter. Then, all of a sudden, I am running up some stairs that are warm beneath my boots and creak alarmingly. I think I can hear Stillwater yelling something at me.

What am I doing?

As I make it to the second stairwell, I can feel the heat pouring off the walls. I just keep running; my feet and body seem to know what they are doing, even if my mind is still outside on the footpath.

I do not even remember climbing the third and fourth floor, and the cries have become more and more audible, even above the crackling of the inferno and the wind that howls with a sound like lost souls.

Hang on—flames! Where am I? Why did I run in here? Then the cry has me moving again before I can think. Stay down; that is what I have been taught. And move fast. That beam does not look good. Jump, you idiot! It nearly falls on me, and I hear the floorboards crack when I land and roll to my feet.

I run around the corner and see a little blonde girl holding a stuffed teddy, surrounded by flames. Coughing into my sleeve, I rush towards her. She is crying, but her cheeks are red and dry from the intense heat. I grab her and croak out, “Don’t worry, I have you now.” I wrap her in my cloak, which luckily is not on fire yet.

Picking her up, I turn to see my return path disappear with a roaring sound as the floor falls in. How do I get down now? Think, think! I am five floors up. I track from side to side, seeing no escape as the firestorm moves toward the two of us. As I back into the wall, the impact does not make the dull thump of plaster on brick, but a crystal chime of glass. A window!

I guess I do not have much choice but to jump through the window. If I angle my body, I can save the child. I guess this is it, the end of my story. At least I can do one decent thing—save an innocent child.

Lucky me, I know what I am doing now. She is still crying; good, still breathing. The glass will not affect her with my cloak.

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All I have to take is one small step and—

No splat. No heaven, hanging out with angelic beauties. Just foam. Foam all around me. I can hear the girl crying still, so at least I protected her. And now it is hardening around me, great! Being a smudge on the ground was one thing, but being suffocated is not a better option.

What is that sound? It sounds like—I do not know what that sounds like. It is like the sound of chopping into wet timber mixed with tearing paper. I mean, lots of thick paper. And it is like someone has an axe, cutting and tearing. The weird things that you hear before you die.

I am an idiot. I could have just stood there, all stupid-like, staring at the fire, pointing out funny things to the other people around to cheer them up. But no. I had to run in and try to be a bloody hero. Stupidest person in all of Favinonia! I cannot believe that my body started to move. I guess my brain is the real coward in all of this. That is right, body, listen to the mind next time, and you won’t be slowly dying, stuck in the foam.

This is what it must feel like to float in a giant mug of beer. Mmm, beer! Hope they have ale or mead in heaven.

I can still feel the child’s heart beating rapidly. I bet you, kid, that it was WayWocket's twisted mind that made this beer foam thingy. And I bet he did not think once, ‘But how do I get them out of there after they get stuck?’

There it is again, cracking and ripping. It seems closer. It must be the sound of death. Oh well, really need a breath right now, or have I been breathing fine all this time? Hang on, breathe in, breathe out. Even though this foam is hardening, I can still breathe. WayWocket, you genius!

Breathe in and out steadily. I cannot believe I did not notice; I guess this can be added to my list of stupid moments; that list is acquiring more entries than I would like.

There is that sound again. Is it becoming brighter in here? Just go back to thinking of beer and maybe Pela. What was in that booze last night? It rocked me something fierce.

“Are you all right?”

What was that? Is someone talking to me? I cannot speak; the foam has locked my mouth in place.

“We’re nearly there; just hang on.”

I definitely heard that.

“Hurry up! How much do they have to go, WayWocket?”

“Not sure.”

That is them making all that noise—trying to save us! Yes! Hold on, little girl, we are going to make it! All this mess must be WayWocket's work. I am going to give that crazy Gnome a massive kiss!

I feel a piece of foam being pulled away. It takes out some hair—ouch! This is going to hurt. At least the little girl is wrapped in my cloak so she will not be injured. Then, another piece of foam comes off. Wow, that hurt even more than the first one!

“Are you alright? This foam is really stuck to you. Don't panic; we’re doing our best to get it off you.” Yes, along with half my skin. “WayWocket says that you should be all good to breathe in there. Something about the aeration of the foam allows oxygen to pass through, or something like that.”

I figured that out earlier, but I do not have to worry about running out of the air. And that is another clump of hair—owww! So I guess the procedure in place is that my mouth is the last thing to be free of this foam. If I could, I would be yelling at them, cursing WayWocket's name!

I feel my limbs coming free. They give me some notice before they rip the foam off by giving it a yank before full-blown tearing it away from me. The weight lifts off my chest.

“We have the little girl. Just need to take off a couple more pieces, and you will be free too.” I am so glad that she is free, and soon I will be too—free to punch WayWocket in the face!

“Lana has been checked over, and she is all fine, just a bit of smoke inhalation. Gunnar is treating her.” Gunnar is treating her? With what, snarky remarks? Looking over, I see a strange green light. “Brace yourself now, and we're going to pull off the piece that is on your face.”

About bloody time! I should control myself this once. If I do not, it could look bad. I could look like a foolish man or, like some people think, a hero. I knew heroes in the army. You know where they are now? Dead! That could have been me. This will be the last time I choose to do the heroic thing.

I can feel the tug. One, two …

Control yourself, no screaming.

Three!