The unfortunate thing about snow is that it is nigh impossible to move through it with complete silence. There is always a crunch, a faint squeak almost, as it compacts underfoot. Even for trained Assassin feet, there is a sound.

And for Altaïr, who has not walked far in snow for a very long time, it is even more trouble than it would normally be. He bites his lips, takes care with each step, but still it crunches as he rounds the corner, staying unfortunately close to the building's wall. Calling out now is giving away his position - as if he cared so much if he was found.

"How many novices tiptoed around you, trying not to raise your ire?" he teased. Many likely wouldn't hear the amusement in Altaïr's voice, but he trusted it would be obvious to Malik.