Skinny Kid Running Through Fire
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Despite the smoke and flames and pieces of building falling down, all Howard can think about is the day Orc bellowed into Zil's face, "nobody messes with Astrid". And all Howard can wonder is how that know-it-all lying twit ranks higher than he does, running after Orc straight into harm's way.
Because, after all, this fire is sure messing with Howard, and this smoke is sure messing with his lungs.
And who, after all, changes all the piss-stained bed sheets, who got his fingers stabbed and infected learning to sew pants for Orc, who trades his food rations for more beer for Orc, who grabbed a zeke by the tail to get it out of Orc's face? Not Astrid, that's for sure.
Blinded by smoke, Howard stumbles on a piece of debris and falls onto his hands, lungs heaving and convulsing, tears streaming from his stung eyes. No protection, where's his damn bodyguard, isn't everything he does for Orc some kind of insurance policy against getting his ass kicked, even by fire?
No, sure as hell not Astrid doing the leg-work here and reaping none of the benefits. Sure not Astrid.
A frying pan-sized palm supports Howard as he gets back up and turns him around, and it isn't until Howard's taken another thirty steps on shaking legs that he realizes Orc was guiding him back out of the burning alley.