It was similar to hail; small chunks of frosted material raining down on his position and leaving little room for him to weave through--however, it wasn't quite comparable to the somewhat inconvenient weather.
He could hear it each time a piece of the half-foot long icicles zoomed past his head; the air contorted, hissed, and howled like a bullet curving by his ear.
Attempting to draw close to the giant air-breathing squid was a difficult task as he found himself having to run circles on the field of snow as the rapid, sharp ice prevented him from reaching close to its body.
If a single one of those hits, it's going to hurt, he thought.
This time he didn't try to use 'Dusk Waltz', and there was a simple reason for it: precision.
While it granted him an immense boost in speed, it didn't allow for small adjustments or clean turns--at least not at the mastery he possessed of it, or lack thereof.
