Eurydome shuffled; and Vakornol was blind to it. Dust spilled from the arena floor where her paws had been only a beat before and she knew that now was her chance. While the spell was still making impact with the air the centuar began to charge forward, her sword drawn.

If she were lucky, Vakornol wouldn't have the chance to move in time. If she were lucky, the amaranth sword wouldn't skid off the pebble-like scales on the Reverant's ribcage. If she were lucky, Vakornol wouldn't turn around and kill her where she stood.

Hell, she swore quietly-- but the fight had gone past entertainment alone for the centuar. There was no time to regret her actions, especially while she was still filling them out.

Her spare hand gripped the hilt of her sword as, once in range, she moved to plunge the blade into Vakornol's ribs.

Shit.
There was a delicate snap of ribs cracking in Eurydome's upper torso as Vakornol's shoulder connected with her sternum. Even as blind as Vakornol's attempt was, it was a hard hit-- and out of her own blind instinct, Eurydome reacted immediately.

She snarled, mouth open and face crinkled with pain. Her sword-arm lifted and then sent the amethyst blade in an arc downwards for Vakornol's ribcage-- this time, from the shoulderblade that was still in close contact with her own chest.

Maybe it was a good thing no one was here to witness the fight, after all. It had quickly turned embarassing.

Eurydome was hardly breathing.

Heart beating hard against fractured ribs; blood rushing in her ears. Was it the adrenaline, or something else? The knowledge that at in the blink of an eye, Eurydome could lose her entire arm to the rows of teeth in Vakornol's jaws? The skin beneath her fur was hot and the centuar fell unnaturally still; muscles tensing in the Reverant's grip.

"I think it's clear," she said, barely above a shallow whisper, "that both of us are severely out of practice."

Embarassing might have been one word for it, sure, but if this had been a real fight, with a real audience, they'd both have been punished for a terrible display. If they were particularly unlucky, they might have been culled to create something that could show more... tact.

Her arm twisted and then bent at the shoulder; she only just managed to scrap her wrist out of Vakornol's grip with minimal damage (the slightest gold buds dripping from her fur) and her paws brought her backwards-- but she made no more attempts to bring herself upon Vakornol further. She licked the blood from her wrist and frowned, looking over the Valkhound.

She shook her fur out after a moment. As the adrenaline faded from her limbs, she was suddenly aware of the thrumming of pain throughout her body. "I have an offer," the centuar said-- "you may not like it."

A pace-- a few steps to Vakornol's left with a wide bearth, her brow furrowed and her sword settling onto its resting position: hanging idly on her shoulder. She needed to find the scabbard for that thing. "What if we worked to train each other back up? Together," she added.

"We could have a rematch when we are both back to our best."