Alright, Anders can throw better than he thought. Alistair just barely manages to avoid the return shot, darting behind another bush for some paltry cover. Which doesn't stop him shouting back, "Doesn't suit me. Have you got anything better?"

He's balling up another couple of snowballs of his own as he speaks, cradling them against himself so they're ready to deploy. His own hands are rapidly getting colder and more clumsy, the gloves he's wearing only doing so much to protect him, but it's not nearly enough to make him consider surrender.

Peering out from behind his shelter, he searches for Anders, winding up for another throw once he spots the mage.