Time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time. The urgency of the moment had now increased ten-fold as the half-naked man's most fearsome foe was no longer the fire passively devouring everything it happened to touch, but rather an armed brute intent on one thing, killing the man in front of him. Yet, as the heartbeat in his ears overpowered the roar of the flames, Jonn became aware of every muscle in his body, everything he could and could not do at this moment.
He made a split-second decision and swung his axe. The orc's blade was already slicing through the air towards his neck, but Jonn's intent was not to kill immediately. His axe-head struck the oncoming wrist, deflecting the sword enough that it merely glanced off his own arm. Sudden pain told him the wound would bleed, but not prove fatal. As he suspected, the rusted edge of the farm tool was not sharp enough to fully sever his opponent's hand, but it easily crushed the small bones therein and sent the sword skittering away.
The raider howled in rage and pain. The torch flew from his other hand as he grasped his now mangled appendage. Jonn wasted no time, bringing the axe back behind his head and gripping with both hands. With all his might, he swung it downward, hitting the arsonist square in the skull. Its crude helmet nearly shattered as the blade pierced through, embedding itself in its head as if it were just another tree stump. For a moment, the orc's eyes rolled back, and then his limp body crumpled onto the straw-strewn floor of the stable. Only then did Jonn finally notice a second assailant, but this one too laid on the floor a few feet away. Its hands gave a last flutter of effort to claw at the pitchfork stuck in its throat before they fell limp at their owner's side.
Jonn took a few hacking breaths, again becoming fully aware of the sweltering heat nearly surrounding him now. Embers rained down from the nearly consumed roof above, lighting small patches of straw on fire wherever they landed. The far wall was fully engulfed, and the doors behind him were burning. Terrified shrieks from the horses raised the hairs on the back of his neck, but he set his jaw, knowing his first priority was the man at his feet.
Not stopping to check whether he was alive or dead, Jonn grabbed the man under his shoulders and dragged him backwards out and away from the fire. Halfway through the door, though, he had to dive out of the way as one of the farmer's draft horses bolted past him. Raising his hand against the heat he could make out that the last stall that housed the pair was opened, presumably by the raiding orcs. A large horse-shaped mass laid on the floor near the emblazoned wall, shuddering as it tried in vain to get to its feet. Jonn swallowed a lump, but knew he couldn't do anything for the poor beast. He pushed himself back to his feet and resumed dragging the young man. Thoughts of his own mount passed through his head as he backed away. No sign of her did he see when he was in the stable, and looking left and right he couldn't find her either. He pushed away fears that the marauders managed to do something with her before setting the fire; he had more pressing matters at hand.
Upon reaching a spot far enough away from the heat to be safe, Jonn gently let the man down and knelt at his side. With the grim appearance of the gaping chest wound, he was actually startled to see his eyes flutter open and his chest rise. Vaguely he perceived footsteps coming out of the house. Gritting his teeth, Jonn crossed the young man's hands over the puncture hole and applied pressure. “Hold on tight. I'm gonna get you something to keep you alive,” Jonn said, trying to convince both himself and the victim that there was still hope.
With surprising strength, the man reached out with one of his bloody hands and grabbed hold of Jonn's sleeve. “Wait... No. My...horse.” Slightly exasperated, Jonn looked back at the burning stable. He knew these Rohirric people loved their horses, but this was no time to be worried about some animal. The already singed Breelander shook his head. “No. It's too late. We have to save you now.” But the grip on his sleeve only tightened, and the dying man's eyes now opened all the way. “He's strong! ...Save him!” he implored, the extra effort causing him to groan in pain.
“Son?” Clad only with overalls, still unbuttoned on one side, the bewildered farmer finally ran up to the two of them on the ground. “Son?!”
Jonn firmly wrenched the hand from his sleeve, placing it on the other still covering the wound. His strength nearly spent, the son didn't fight back and closed his eyes. Jonn then took one of the farmer's wavering hands and placed it on his son's. “Find something to keep him from bleeding out. Hold it here, hard. If it doesn't hurt, it isn't hard enough.”
Hesitantly standing up, Jonn turned to face the fire. Shaking his head and growling angrily, he stalked over to a nearby water trough. Stupid horses. He reached in and splashed his chest and legs, soaking the thin cloth covering his body. Stupid people. He threw a wave of water over each shoulder, hoping it would be enough to protect him from the blaze now almost fully engulfing the exterior of the small building. All this to save a 'pet'!
Growling again at his own foolishness to fulfill the dying man's request, Jonn made what he hoped wouldn't be his last march into danger. He took several deep breaths while he still could, then he lifted his damp shirt collar over his mouth and nose—All the good it'll do me—and raised his other hand to protect him from the heat radiating from the ring of fire that was once the stable doors.
Struggling not to cough, or even breathe for that matter, the scantily clad man squinted through the smoke. The panicked neighs and stamps from inside the first stall confirmed that the young soldier's steed did indeed yet live. Cinders rained down on Jonn from above, and flames were everywhere. Including, it seemed, the horse's stall; an angry light coming from back there silhouetted the horse's head and front legs as it reared up and down. Jonn staggered over to its half-door and lifted up on the metal latch. It wouldn't budge. Dropping his shirt collar, he employed both hands and all his strength. Still nothing. The near-oven heat of the air must have expanded the metal. He stepped back in frustration, almost giving up the endeavor to save himself, but something about the creature's eyes—wild and desperate, streaming with tears from the smoke—convinced him to give it another go.
Peering around frantically, he spotted the orc he slew mere minutes ago—though it seemed like more—still with the old axe embedded in its skull. Between them was a short wall of small flames licking up the scattered straw on the floor. Not wanting to kick at them first lest his efforts only fan the flames, Jonn leapt over them, hoping to himself he didn't cook his nearly unprotected nether-regions. Landing almost on top of the corpse, he wiggled the tool out of the brute's noggin. One leg jerked reflexively, but no other complaint came from the departed fiend. Another leap over the flames and the man was back in front of the stall door, bloodied axe in hand.
Perhaps the horse thought Jonn had left him for dead, because it was stamping and whinnying in even more of a frenzy than before. Clothes steaming, Jonn knew if this didn't work he would in fact need to abandon the prized steed; the old wooden rafters holding up the roof could give way at any moment. One swing upwards with the butt-end of the wedge loosened the latch. Two nearly unstuck it. And the third finally popped it free, knocking the door open a crack in the process. The agitated horse didn't wait for the man to let him out; he smashed the door open himself with his front hooves and bucked out into the cramped little hallway.
Jonn finally saw what had the animal so exceptionally jumpy. The hay inside the horse's own stall was ablaze—lit by the slain orc's thrown torch, though Jonn didn't realize that—and had lit the creature's tail on fire. It bucked and shrieked, trying to no avail to put it out. Jonn knew there was no guiding it out of danger in its panicked state, so he grabbed a saddle blanket draped over a nearby railing and gingerly approached the beast. Through his own ragged coughs and eyes burning from the acrid smoke, he could barely stay on his feet, but he managed to throw the blanket at the horse's tail in between bucks of those toned hind legs. Finally he managed to dowse it, though the warhorse was too worked up at that point.
“Calm down!” Jonn croaked, “Stop!” But the horse's response was to pivot away from the man. Those powerful legs bucked yet again. Jonn saw a flash of hooves. And all went dark.
