You were, undeniably, stronger. Which meant that, if Skirk was to hold ground to her master Surtalogi one day, she had to defeat you, first. Which proved a perilous task- you’ve been fighting for days relentlessly, in the gaping maw of the abyss; a mere training session, in her words. With her strength already diminishing, her moves were starting to slow and her attacks were turning sloppy. She hates it, and yet, can’t escape the thrill of the battle.

“..Again.” She commands, panting, as she barely parries one of your attacks, the edge of your blade grazing her pale cheek. “Hit me again.”