"HEY! You overgrown gutter dwarf, you<em>nearly hit me!</em>" she barks at the knight, whose blade had indeed sliced off a few locks of hair from her ponytail when he had ducked under his swing. She scrambled on hands and feet to get out of his way. Once there was a little breathign space between her and the swrd-weilding maniac, she cupped her hands together, and whispered into the hollow they formed.<br/><br/>"Taif'shee tiné, cúnamh dom; Leái an crua; Dúi an crise'yan..." tiny motes of gold and red and silver float from the air around her as she speaks, like dust in a sunbeam, curling around her arms and sparking through her hair, condensing into her cupped palm, glowing a dull red, then orange as they form into flames, wreathing her left hand. Her right drops down, retrieving the bronze-and-oak sickle from where it hangs on her belt. She certainly seems confident enough, with the glare she's giving the brute.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">Taking a five-foot step into I-6; using standard action to cast Produce Flame; Move action to ready weapon. Good time for Lydia to so some more backstabberying!</div></div>