.7 seconds.

The impact knocks the breath from Vasilia’s body. But sand gives way more than hard earth, and her armor absorbed the worst of the damage. Her injuries thus far are minimal. No disruption to blood pressure. Nothing to stop the adrenaline from pumping.

She moves fast. Her eyes must move faster. She’s trained herself to see the whole of her opponent, the consequences that must follow after them. What moves are they making? How long for the follow-through? What options will it give them? Where are they strong? Where are they weak? What territory is theirs, and how might she enter it anyway? She will act on instinct so polished there will be no gap between decision and movement. 

Her style is loud and bombastic. She thrives on drawing the eye, that she might strike where it is blind. She is accustomed to fighting through pain. She knows her husband is not.

.7 seconds. 

In .7 seconds, Vasilia will rise from the impact crater, and draw Bella’s ire.

Time enough for Dolce to finish running the numbers, pluck up a broken spear tip, and hurl it at Bella’s thorned helmet.

He does not expect it to hit. But he knows it will reach her in time.