He could hear talk, a ways off, about someone else that had gotten themselves in a scrape, but Conall was more concerned, currently, about the way the burst of pain had shot up his arm and his right cheek, which still felt like it was sizzling.  

Out of nowhere, another jacket came down to pat out the flames. Conall did little more than grunt at the man who'd come to his rescue - out of pain or out of annoyance, he wasn't decided. Grateful as he was to not be on fire still, he didn't take the offered hand, because he wasn't some doddery old fool, he could get to his feet bleedin' well himself. He pushed off the wet ground with his hand instead and stood up again, gave the man a curt nod - yes, get under cover, the obvious plan - and then started off limping towards a nearby roof overhang without a word.

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