If there was anything to get them to take her seriously in her abilities, it would be this. Facing down a man half set on killing her just because she's made herself something in his way to be hit. But truthfully, she isn't thinking about it. She isn't thinking about that, she isn't thinking about anything much but - watching his hands, watching his feet, seeing the path he draws through the air with his blade, his quick movements and that in turn she snaps to an utter and complete attention as she blocks.

The clash is heavy, loud, spark bright in the air. It's good, it feels good, there's nothing that feels as good as this to her. To the elation of not having to pull her punches, not keep it back. To give as much as she gets from him. To let everything go metal-quiet and she swings their blades around to disengage as she pivots on her heel. He's stronger than her, now, without the blackwater and she's learned her lesson about throwing her punches with a strength she doesn't have anymore. So she goes to what she had first trained in. Speed, being half a step ahead. A side step to get out of the way, and a step in close to drive into him in a sharp movement. His reach was longer than hers, and his movements heavier for his height. Her chin lifts up sharp as she cuts in throat high at him again, and laughs bright and quick and high. Twenty years younger for the humming in her veins.