<b>Pegawen grinned as she watched Thorgan's expression change – first baffled, then more considering. She leaned over to Lotharn and whispered, “I don't think he expected her to be so good, but she's been practicing with a sword for most of her life. And,” she added, turning back just as Allassiel shifted, “she had a fine teacher. Why do humans always assume that hiril are as weak as their own women?” She huffed at the last remark, crossing her arms as she moved to lean against him. <br/>
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Allassiel watched as Thorgan circled her, waiting patiently for the next move. His first move had been tempered, she was sure of it. As strong as it was, she had her suspicions he could do better. He was a big man, bigger than most and, from what she could tell, well-muscled. Was he scared to hurt her? The thought had her narrowing her eyes. Perhaps, when they were done, she'd share some of her training stories with him, or even some of the grimmer tales of war. <br/>
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She tensed at his sudden move, the swords connecting once more, and Allassiel grinned up at him. Now he was getting into the spirit, she could feel the strike had more power behind it, though the sword still managed to absorb most of the hit. She was beginning to understand the intent of it now and she liked it. How could the wielder tire if they never felt the blows? She once more parried and spun around, feinting right before swinging left. </b>