"I do," he admits, meandering over to where Harrowheart stands. He'll get the whole story eventually, but Reynard is enjoying feeding the answers to him bit by bit.

When he gets closer to Harrowheart, he lifts his hand so that the other can see. On it, frost crystals form, snapping along invisible lines. "Ice, frost, it moves in a particular way. It will work better with you if you let it follow the pattern."

Letting his hand drop, he nods in front of him. "Like this." Without a motion of effort, several streaks of ice spread from his feet, large, sharp, sheer shards of ice bursting upwards in different directions like nasty teeth. The ice snaps forward, splitting outwards as well to make a sort of cone shape by the end of it. Reynard considers his work and then shrugs a shoulder as he leans closer to Harrowheart. "You can do spikes, of course. I just use this shape more."