The fire stopped. As soon as each snaking line of fire reached one of them, it broke off, going around them and surrounding them in their own personal rings of flame. The others had managed to settle down somewhat when it became obvious the fire wasn't going to enclose further on them. Handy? Handy was waging an internal war, the same animalistic terror he felt in the presence of fire almost forcing him to take flight and running for it. While the more sane part of him, also afraid of fire, clamped down on that mad impulse which was only going to end up having him flailing over the flames between him and sweet, blissful, non-fiery freedom. This, meanwhile, left him a heavily breathing wreck turning about at the fire surrounding him, utterly dead to the world.