Her precision with her own weight was admirable. Form had some value under a trainer, but could only offer its bases structure in real combat. It seemed she had seen this, and used it. Perhaps it would have been strange if it wasn't so, since there was no conceivable way she'd ever been a dancer, or seen a dancer's schooling. Esfelt had to concede to it's effectiveness and purity. There could not be waste if you had so little weight to work with. Of course, he didn't see it with a sober eye.<br/><br/>He thought he should have hit her harder, when she ended up with her blade back, but larger blows make larger sounds, and he didn't mean to appear unsportsmanlike, and also, he needed to sacrifice some of his power himself, since she was putting a lot of swift in the match. He assumed the width of her next wooden kiss with a leg chaser was for strength, so he avoided accordingly. That would have been a countable blow, and he didn't know he could counter it without seeming petty if Shy decided to dodge forever.<br/><br/>So he stepped back, throwing up a tongue of sand, and let the boy retreat as best he wanted. What a beautiful brat she looked like, free, beautiful thing celebrating her own animal. Esfelt thought it was distracting for one, but also made the fight a little more delectable. It became an acute matter to see Shy falter in any way. And maim her, if he could. The men were of the same mind, with the invested eyes and breaths held at every turn. This was good for their spirits, too.<br/><br/>He didn't laugh at her comment, but he found the humor in it. Was a new soldier really offering advice on how he should go about teaching others? Playful little rat. There was a little shrug of his metal shoulders. "This was always unfair." he explained and twitched forward to try Shy's nerves. They wouldn't be strained or she wouldn't have been here. He shifted his weight a couple of times and wondered where the holes in her speed might be. He wasn't a behemoth himself, so it was conceivable some of his turns could pass hers, if she wasn't prepared.<br/><br/>He marked the angle of her bow as she flung herself at him. Another beautiful technique that hadn't been learned on stone floors. He would not be hypnotized and that was not her intention. Larger motions were important for smaller warriors. He bent his legs to store up kinetic while he waited, and then grew fast into her while she planned for the impact. With his right cocked back, he could drive forward hard, his arm-guard into hers, to slow the cutting arm to a useless speed while their torsos clanked.<br/><br/>A cloud of her scents confused him, and his eyes grew brighter without him knowing when she fell back in her signature way, like she'd been a bird in some other life. His response was demonic, a cerebral magic that had let him stab fingers up between the plates of her armor, at her chest, when they'd touched. His fingertips were pressed against a strangely muscular chest for her build, but now was not a good time to be impressed. He had to rely on strength, after all, and started spinning her, to keep her at the heavy end of the energy, so her sword strikes were useless or impossible.<br/><br/>They were fans, the crowd, but with Shy's pretty, they'd rather see her tumble, or even bleed. No love yet, even though they'd defend her with their lives if Coldmen came now. A harsh camaraderie. Esfelt didn't have time for that either, so he let go of Shy when he was sure it would be too much, but he had been wrong about that before. Either way he'd chase her as she got her bearing, if she didn't trip from the toss. It was a surprise fro the Silverum Knight too, when someone threw a practice sword in his path while he chased Shy's back.<br/><br/>Out of reflex he snapped it from the air and relied on that she'd not seen it fly. He still meant to tackle her with the full force of his sprint, but now if she meant to tag him with her own sword, twisting back, he'd have his new wooden weapon to cross with, which would still make the tackle effective. It would be a rather mighty collision. And if she stayed his momentum somehow, holding her sword to his, his head would barrel forward, and touch her where Namer had.