Her expression gave it away, and when that changed, time slowed. Or at least Arthur's perception of it. He watched the muscles strain to move her limbs as fast as they would go, felt the impulses racing through her nervous system to carry the commands of her brain, and began to move himself. Even his own movements, which were quicker by far than those of the woman beside him, seemed to crawl through mud as he anchored himself and pulled his torso down, beneath the level of the oncoming blow. A blinding flash illuminated his right hand as the massive club passed over his head, and coalesced into the form of a sword as he rose back up in the wake of her assault. He drove this new blade directly toward her heart with all the strength and leverage his anchored position gave him, using her own momentum against her as she threw her weight into the blow and propelled herself toward him and the point of his weapon.