"Good!" Vargas praised, his now likely familiar word of approval ringing out through Draco. He did not dodge the swipe, instead allowing it to connect, offering a strong nod as well as the praise.

He darted in, then, his enormous bulk perhaps surprisingly quick, with a sideways, catlike dancing movement. One long forelimb reached out in an attempt to tap Vjira back, just in a generic portion of her flank; it wasn't a dangerous hit. It also wasn't hard, or even particularly worth learning about--but it was an opening move, and an opening for her to use, and a test of if she had any familiarity whatsoever with combat.

She got it. Good.

Excellent, in fact. Vargas was quite satisfied, even moreso when she lashed tentatively out with a feline-like lash of one forelimb. Those claws were hooked, and surprisingly large, and Vargas took note of this too late as he was quite busy not moving out of the way. He'd figured he'd let her hit, no big deal, and help initiate a spar: but a sort of Mistake! realization flashed through his mind as the hooks on her limb connected.

They raked through skin, flesh, though perhaps she hadn't meant to cut very deeply. It was a swipe, nothing more, but with hooks for claws, and Vargas flinched back belatedly.

He didn't scold her, though; this was his intention, and almost at once he aimed to teach his first lesson. This wasn't punishment, even if it hit its mark: it was a brief lesson on a weak point, something Vjira herself might soon learn to use.

It was a strike--not hard, and not claws-first--for her left inner 'elbow,' hoping to topple her to the ground or at least throw her off her balance.

If he hit, he could explain afterward--but hitting was the important thing. Would he manage, or would she move-?

Vargas stepped back, circling briefly and out of range of the Mirage's brief lash, before pushing the "attack." He spoke, as he did so. "We all have weak points. You, me, prey, enemies. You will fare better if you know where they are; where to strike! The joints, the throat, the eyes-"

He lashed one forelimb out, going to pop a light strike upward from beneath Vjira's chin. It was the sort of hit that could jar the jaw, clack the teeth together, and daze; but it wasn't intended to truly harm. "-the jaw-"

Does she understand? he wondered. Well, he was showing, as well as telling; hopefully she would come to understand, even if his words were meaningless to her.

What she came back with was another feral slash, rather than a precision strike--which wasn't what Vargas wanted. It wasn't that he insisted on her immediately being a seasoned fighter, but that he was here to teach her how to fight properly, and this--wasn't it.

"No!" he cried, but it was amused, and he tried to jerk back from the strike, to bat her arm down with a sharp (but not too hard) strike of his own. A punishment, so to speak, for her imprecise, uncalculated attack. "There are vulnerable points. Calculate your attack. Hit me when I am open to it!"

Deliberately, Vargas turned, walking in a slow circle turned mostly away from Vjira. He could still half-see her from the corner of his eyes, but he was giving her an opening to attack: teaching her (or trying to) that some strikes were better than others.

Vjira's next attempt was a smart one, if not practiced enough to be smooth. Vargas skittered aside almost like a massive spider, a crab-walk turned jog. "Good! Almost!" he praised, voice booming and as encouraging as he could manage.

She seemed to be getting the hint: strike for the legs, for weak points; off-balance the enemy. "But be quicker; you have to move fast!"

He could not barrel into Vjira's legs, himself; he'd have to hit ALL of her, or none. So he snapped out a limb in an attempt to bonk her own leg again--a demonstration of speed.

Whether due to a miscalculation or her own movement, he missed--rather dampening this lesson.