The soldiers stumbled out under a wing of orange smoke.

Through the window Antoinette saw the orange smoke vanish in an instant.

The orange smoke was theirs, the tear gas belonged to the riot police.

He pulled in a deep, cooling draft of orange smoke, and held it in his lungs for a long moment.

A trace of orange smoke was just visible rising from the surface of the water.

While the small guard reached for his pistol, the other opened fire through the thick, orange smoke.

There came an explosion, a blast of orange smoke, and when it cleared, Jarlaxle was gone.

Incense filled the air with clouds of orange smoke.

Sometimes both targets would be shattered in a puff of orange smoke.