Izzy placed her hands on her elbows, watching Cerasus’ show of swordplay. There was a lethal beauty and power to each of the movements that held her captivated, that made her not want to blink for fear of missing something.
	She inhaled and gripped her elbows tighter when the blade passed silently through the pole. Her attention locked on it, expecting the next brush of a breeze to knock it over, but it remained standing. She gasped and staggered back when he raised the sword toward her, her gaze focused on the deadly point as he answered her question. 
	“[i]You[/i] seem no worse for wear,” she said softly, “after, you know, [i]pulling it from your stomach.[/i]”