The curse that Altaïr used was not one he often uttered. Twice now he'd seen people frozen, head to toe, after an encounter with these little creatures. They were more menacing than a mouse should ever be. He ran forward, keeping his questions about just how the man knew his name (after all, he had been introducing himself quite frequently here, so he may simply be known) in favour of using the strange power he'd learned to start melting the ice first away from the man's mouth and nose, and then his chest so it could expand with each breath. His practice with Nida came in handy, giving him a better measurement by which to judge speed and intensity of what would be allowable. "Stay calm. I will have you free - just... likely not as quickly as you would prefer."

He'd mentioned Connor. Perhaps it was Connor who had--

But no. 'First Connor and now you,' he'd said. As if they'd met.

When he looked at the man's face, even with the ice in the way, he had to admit a resemblance. They both bore nearly the same scar. The man's hair was as dark as his. Skin nearly the same brown. Hm. Odd. Was it--

Could he be... Darim's? Sef's? But the bit of hope that surged at that was something he squashed down ruthlessly. No. He had learned that lesson already.