She moves like water, and he watches her as the moment slows. Fire flows around her, and he wonders if it will leave a mark on his skin. Her fingertips brush his chest, and he spins away, hands raised to deflect any followup blow. Two steps to the right, and his thoughts reach out to hers.

How do they move in your world? Show me.

The memories aren't that far from the surface, and he takes them on, wraps himself in them like a cloak. Brutal and thirsty, like winter-starved wolves.

He adjusts his attack accordingly, aiming for her throat.