At first glance Mica would have sworn it was chunks of clear glass, given the temperature, it was the most likely guess. But when he bent to pick up a piece he almost screamed. It was cold, ice cold, and wet to the touch. What the hell was ice doing way out here? And why so large and irregular? Each piece had at least the volume of an oversized mug. He could only imagine them being used as weapons of some sort, maybe shot from afar, and so he spun around on his heels casting wild eyes to the horizon. Empty. He pulled out his knife regardless, this was a surprise and he didn't like them, not even on birthdays.