[ lmao I'm a dork xD I was running the weirdest google queries yesterday, and mostly came upon sawing wood; which is different when it is frozen. <_<; /idiot ]

He guessed it was only natural to be awkward when you lay trapped in a pond, entirely at the mercy of a stranger, and nature. She was the epitome of defenseless, and he could imagine the scene if it had been d'Artagnan who had found her. Slowly he shook his head. The red bay would berate him long and well for not doing what he could to make sure she never got up again, but he was tired of it—that was a battle they'd have to fight some other day. Right now, d'Artagnan wasn't even here. It was just Mauja and the trapped mare, who flinched at the cold touch of his horn. He'd held still a moment longer, just to make sure she knew he was there, before doing his little "examination". Despite her silence she'd stayed still, which he was grateful for, as he came away from it with his skull intact. Still, he couldn't help but get a feeling it wasn't only the situation having her on edge. Was it something about him?

As he stood peering down at he with a troubled look, she seemed to resign herself to her fate of drowning, alternatively freezing to death. Or starving. Freezing seemed likelier, though. The nights were getting longer and colder, and she was lying in quite the wet place. "I appreciate you trying to help at least," she said softly, her blue eyes looking up at him. She still seemed slightly scared, and he shook his head gently. Trying to help? He'd not tried anything yet, just.. poked about, and realized that he wasn't equipped to deal with maiden-rescuing in willow-ponds. He was, honestly, making quite the poor knight right now, and it bothered him. Did he have some vast, untapped knowledge of how to deal with this somewhere? Some region of inventiveness hidden away in some nook of his tired old brain? He didn't want to give up without trying anything, but he didn't want to break his horn, and it left him with only the one weapon he had left: ice.

He wouldn't have enough force to split them, anyway. They were too thick and if he stomped on them, he'd just break her leg, and his horn didn't have enough strength in it to make them shatter. "I'm not done trying yet," he replied after a moment, his voice a bit absent as his mind did cartwheels trying to come up with a solution. He even felt like sitting down on his ass for some reason, but didn't. It was too muddy and cold and he doubted he'd think better just because he did something weird. So he remained standing, frowning slightly, until Irma suggested he just make the roots blow up. "What," he said out loud. Hadn't they already abandoned the freezing-theory? Apparently not, as Irma persisted, and because he had no better ideas, he shrugged. "Don't panic, but it's going to get cold around your foot." And with no more explanations he set about his work, drawing upon the cold power he had at his beck-and-call. As always, the edges of his vision seemed to grow shaded, lines cast into stark relief; the cold and dark slipped through his veins, chilling him to the bone. But he relished it—today, it was his friend, and an old one at that.

Crystals of ice erupted in the midst of the roots, finding the water trapped within the wood and clinging to it, expanding, and his heart breathed a silent forgiveness to the tree—but if it stuck its toes in this place, it had itself to blame, at least partially, no? He closed his eyes, focused, feeling his way along the roots with magic; they groaned and strained against their swelling interiors, until a crack nearly startled him into flight as one of them split vertically under the pressure. His eyes had flown open and he blinked. "Just try and get out whenever you're ready," he said, and kept freezing the rest.

And Irma, she was damnably smug.

[ exploding tree ftw :D ]