Mittel danced lightly on his toes, anticipation keen. Fadro seemed an easy opponent — calm and confident true, but older, a little slower, grey creeping into his hair. Almost silver grey, shimmering lightly in the dawn light. Or was it hazy grey. Cold grey. Mittel shivered, and abruptly gasped.
Frost burned around Fadro, a halo of crystalised air that grew with startling speed. Half an instant was all the time Mittel had to grasp the situation.
The haze solidified into spears of ice and screamed towards him.