The flame is a kind soul. It benevolently isolates the fighting parties with itself, then uses fire oil as a guide and life as kindling to tell everyone that fighting is wrong.
"See, these dead guys can only be made into barbecue by me." The flame said, "And it's the hard-to-swallow kind, since they're all charred, turned into a pile of black charcoal. Does anyone like eating black charcoal? I don't think so."
"To be honest, I'm not a good cook because I can't control myself." The flame continued to vent, "'I can't control myself' simply means 'I can't control the heat,' so you know. Ah, I really wish I had a sense of humor, then I could make this double entendre much more interesting... like... "
"Brother, what are you thinking?" Wesley waved his hand in front of Bartlett's eyes. "Should we leave now?"
