And he tossed the sweltering blanket over the princess. The blanket was blistering and rough and, as the princess tried to jolt and nudge away, as it wounded and grazed her and as merciless scorpions took an enormous crunch; she screamed and cried as load as her voice could take her for help. All the boiling hot fire had been around her and had been killing the life out of her. The last gasps had arrived to her lungs. The blanket had smelt putrid and revolting, yet mildly contaminated (it had made her retch and choke). It was splendidly stitched with reds and oranges and yellows. The princess had discovered that it was patterned with embroidered creatures and spitting fires. "The Fire's Blanket" he remarked.

The Scorching Fire Blanket!