<i>Well, she sure as fuck knows how to punch, </i>Eymen thought with a grimace. Colleen started with quick jabs meant to be light and fast. She shifted her hips and stepped where necessary though, so each blow came with the weight of her body behind it. Eymen was impressed. It took a lot of skill or raw talent to strike both hard and fast.<br/><br/>There were ways to mitigate the impact, however. Good fighting relied heavily on good footwork. With each jab, Eymen stepped back and exhaled sharply. Keeping the distance blunted the impact, and the exhalations tightened his core. Eymen kept his hands raised to protect his face, letting the larger muscles of his torso take the remaining energy of her strikes. Jabs were meant to surprise, confuse, or enrage an opponent. He started fierce, and she matched him. Now he would wait, and take the pain in the meantime.<br/><br/>They danced around the pit, sidestepping to and fro. The raucous cheers of the crowd spiked with every blow landed, but Eymen ignored them. Colleen was all that mattered. She was young and in shape, in spite of her rumored excesses. Any fight was tremendously exhausting, but he couldn't expect to wear her down that way. He would wait for an opportunity; play it safe, and hope his ribs could take the beating. They would be horribly bruised come morning. Feet scraping against the sand, Eymen felt streams of sweat dripping down his body.<i>There is a lull in her strikes. A brief pause...there!<br/>
</i><br/>Colleen's fist shot out, and Eymen deftly slid forward in a diagonal sidestep. He didn't stop her fist; he yanked it past him, adding to her momentum. He drove a solid knee into her gut. Even with the grunt that signified the air leaving her lungs, Colleen had the presence of mind to turn her face away.<i>Fine</i>, he thought. Eymen slammed his forehead into her cheekbone, then shoved her away. Breathing hard, he realized a hitch in his inhale.<i>Ribs are battered</i>, he thought grimly,<i>one or two cracked. I paid a high price for those blows.<br/>
</i><br/><div style="text-align: center">- x -<br/>​</div>From the stands above, Al-Akhir watched the fight with a practiced eye. A wooden cup filled with sweet hot tea occupied his hands, which he sipped on occasion. He largely ignored the torrent of excited Turkish that flowed around him. It seemed this "Eymen" was a crowd favorite. Al-Akhir could understand why. The boy was somewhat competent. A part of his mind reserved for a former life coldly analyzed the display below.<br/><br/><i>Colleen fights fiercely, but with a practiced temper. The boy seems content to wait for a chance to strike. A smart idea, but he takes too much punishment for the trouble. He is too inefficient; content to take blows rather than predict and evade them. He would not be an able Shadow.<br/>
</i><br/>The crowed "ooohhed" when Eymen drove his knee into Colleen's gut, and again with the headbutt to the face. A hard shove sent her spiraling backward, but the boy didn't press his advantage. That was foolish. He might have ended the fight there. Al-Akhir knew then, that Eymen had never needed to use his skills outside of the pit or a sparring session. He was an athlete, not a warrior.<br/><br/><i>Colleen has potential, but expends far too much energy. Too many unnecessary movements. She needs more training or a better teacher. She would be dead by now if one of my better Shadows had been the opponent...<br/>
</i><br/>But no. Al-Akhir shook his head with a flash of annoyance. That was not his life any longer. A few more years, and it never would be again.