"I said," Otto began to reply, a hint of annoyance in his voice, "identify yourself!"  Whether he was just annoyed at the other man's lack of an appropriate answer, or if the cold was just killing his mood, was uncertain.  With his hand still clasped around the unbearably cold hilt of his sword, the Teutonic Knight trudged through the unbelievably thick snow to where the man was, stopping when the silhouette of the man became more apparent.

"You speak German?" Otto yelled, simply stating what he already knew.  He was unable to identify the man in this weather, and even if he sounded Prussian, he could have been a Prussian auxiliary in his own force.  "What land do you hail from?  And who do you owe your loyalty to?"  There was a harsh, demanding, and somewhat desperate tone in his voice.

Otto never once moved his hand from his sword.  It might have been frozen in its scabbard, but at least it might make the man think twice if he tried attacking him.