Ilmari turns from the scene of the fallen Jacopo, and strides out into the night, the bundle of wool still in one hand, ignored but not forgotten.
"I know snowz, I weel maeke zem speak at me."
He kneels, barefooted in the fallen white and naked as the day he was born, and shows not the least sign of ill effect from the cold, his skin not so much as goose-fleshed, in comparison with those who rely on mere mundane protection, the thickest wool stabbed like a dagger by the icy winds. As there is magic afoot, and no guarantee that all is as it seems to the naked eye, he first invokes the formulaic Story of the Snows, and instantly gains knowledge of all that has transpired on or to the ice and snow within some hundred and fifty paces about - the steady fall, the several older tracks leading here, and then, he would expect, the recent steps of the departure of both Pryor and Cato. Specifically, he wants to make sure these tracks occurred naturally over time, and not all at once as some magical ruse, and also that no being is still lurking nearby, behind the falling snows, invisible to mundane vision.
If all is indeed as it seems, he takes this in consideration with what his mundane senses tell him, his experience as a hunter, tracking in the snows of the north, and then casts Tale of the Winter Trail, and the tracks themselves begin to sing to him, each set a slightly different magical voice. He stands and turns, speaking aloud what he has found.
He sees that his clothing is gone - and frowns, a low growl coming from his throat. If his axe is there he retrieves that, and, still under the long-lasting effects that allow him to walk on any snowy or ice surface, strides off after those who left those tracks, a naked man in the snows with an axe in one hand, and a ball of cloth wrapping something in the other.
"Come. Eef need, I can try you make for walk on some snowz, or for kip warm, budt you want for drop barma."