Despite Sir Oslac of Dalwyk's increasingly open guard, more than one opportunity for a proper riposte was left behind. The air-slicing sound of his rigid spear descending onto the place she was but a fraction of a moment ago ended up with the echo in the small arena of a heavy thud, as it connected to the ground. But instead of a poke to the torso, another more defensible upward slash from her own bamboo-like bendy spear sought to strike him.
Her breath was somewhat ragged and her own movements were slower, but she did not otherwise seem half as tired as him. Her evasions were only on the nick of time, and she was not taking advantage of his frustration. Was she toying with him? Was it a sign of respect? It was unclear one way or the other, but she seemed to be delaying the end of the bout, whether by malice, charity or incompetence not immediately obvious.
Mæva Hrisariya's battle-frenzied grin had not disappeared, but her face betrayed a higher degree of focus. Her attention had not waned in the slightest, and though seemingly slow her every movement seemed precise and deliberate. A feigned thrust to his left shoulder, a quick pivot of the dastardly bendy weapon downwards towards his abdomen, a slight sideways jump to avoid a counter-attack, and on she went.
He'd have to verbalize a request for a pause or increase his efforts, for she was not seemingly in a forgiving mood.