[Will Witfoot]

Fungrim looked at the sky and gave one of his rare smiles. It looked like the inn would be saved, after all. Most of the blaze outside had been extinquished by the rain and the bucket briggade. The inside, however, was still a burning inferno and black smoke gouted from cracks in the roof. Something would have to be done quickly.

He grabbed a second bucket from a hobbit too tired to care about the inn's fate. He took of his green cloak and soaked it with the water. He wrapped it around his head and over his mouth and nose to cut out the smoke. He scooped his other bucket full of sand and dove into the blazing inn.

It was like some peculiar dream that reflected the real world. Stools, tables, armchairs, the floor and the walls. All allight in fiery, flickering flowers that consumed the wood with a matchless hunger. They needed more people here.
Suddenly he heard the screams. A small, frightened girl's voice drifted from the kitchen, calling for help. He hurried to the thick door and found it latched from the outside, trapping the child in near to the source of the blaze.
"Don't worry, Im going to get you out of there!" He called through the door. On the otherside the child sounded like she was sobbing.

The dwarf tossed the contests of the two buckets at the door and managed to extinguish most of the fire consuming it. Most of it. The door was still burning and hot, but so thick it was that it would take some more minutes for it to burn down on its own accord. Making his decision in an instant, Fungrim drew his axe. The first blow sent chips of blackened wood and sparks flying. The second smashed the door from its hinges, allowing him to forge his way in using his shoulder.

The child lay on the floor, nearly unconcious from the heat and smoke. There was no time to waste. Quickly he grabbed her and wrapped his dripping cloak around her face. She would need it more than him.
Now, all he had to do was to get out.