James did not go forward.
He had four strides of momentum and a clean line at a man's back and he threw all of it away, sideways, across the front of the thing on his own side of the approach — because the hand was already coming down and going forward meant going *through* it.
The cold came off it in a front.
He was out of the middle of it and still not out of it. The edge caught his trailing leg below the knee and the rock underneath his boot stopped being rock and became something he could not stand on, and he went down onto his hip and slid four metres.
`[CILLIAN WARD — LIGHTNING STRIKE]`
The white came across from the low outcrop and hit the duplicate in the side of the head, and it turned.
That was all Cillian had been trying to do. It turned, and it did not follow James across the floor, and James got his feet under him on the far side of the white with his leg working.
Nineteen metres to his left, the other one's wave went out across sixty degrees at Finn and Ronan.
