The snow and sleet laden wind hissed, clawing at the rope holding Egon above the river, swinging him back and forth - the larger of the two lights, flickering like an old television with a bad tube circled, buzzing and hissing.
A whistling gust sent him dangerously close to the lightly coated with ice concrete – one booted foot absently fending it off as he read the screen on the PKE meter: the source of all the trouble was down at the base of the pillar.
Another gust, another kick, sleet stinging against three days of beard, the other light had a different source, outside the meter's range.
A long drawn out howl of wind, ropes creaking, sizzling lights, Egon ducked, trying to fend off the larger, the smaller one placing itself between it and him, more stinging sleet, a bounce off the concrete and the helmet falling off, spinning slowly, lamp sending up lazy flashes of light to hit the ice and branches below with a hollow "clonk" briefly illuminating a clear patch of ice with a human shape in it before going out.
Head hard against icy concrete, Egon smelled blood; ears ringing, he dropped everything, going limp in the Swiss seat…