He cried out as the knife sliced a nasty line up his face. It only barely missed his eye, even cutting slightly into the eyelid.

But he didn't stop moving or let the pain stop him, twirling around in a smooth movement himself, tucking into a roll.

As he did it, he pulled his knife out of his belt and slashed at her leg, hoping against hope he wouldn't miss. The knife was in a sheath he'd carved out of wood now - and there was a reason for it.

Then he rolled backwards again and stood at the ready, blood now streaming down his face, repositioning the spear in case he needed to lunge again.

"Did you think to poison all your weapons?" he asked her.

He didn't feel dizzy yet. In pain, but not dizzy. His face didn't have the same stinging pain the dart had caused his shoulder.