A few blasts of flame erupted from Taran's hands as he shot down into the crowd. Everything was on fire already, so he figured he couldn't do anymore damage if he tried. A few people screamed as he hit his targets, though he didn't really feel bad. After all, the townspeople would sooner see his head on a spike, and he wasn't sure if the noble standing would help or hinder his cause. He looked at Mack when he began speaking, and smiled. The roofs were a perfect idea, as long as no one in the mob fancied a bow and arrow or projectile magic. He turned when Mack pointed at the route, and gave a stiff nod in affirmation of the plan.<br/><br/>However, his expression soured when Mack hinted that he might not be in 100% condition. In response, Taran began to stand, and shifted so that he was in a kneeling condition. He placed a hand over his wound and set it aflame. The smell of burning flesh was strong and Taran turned his head away. It was just as painful as he anticipated, but kept his face straight lest Mack make a comment. He inspected his wound, and once he was satisfied he wouldn't bleed to death, he stood. "Well enough. I'm more worried about you. Let's go," said Taran.<br/><br/>He took the initiative first and leaped to the next building. His wings aided him in his jump, and the next few buildings looked as though they could be run across. Once they hit the outskirts of town, they could high tail it out of there considering how slow the mob would be. He beckoned Mack with his armored hand that had now cooled down to its normal dark steel. He was about to make it into some sort of competition, maybe a race, but he felt as though his side would betray him.