Block, block, sudden thrust forward leading to a tumbling roll, both swords tucked so that he harmlessly pressed against the flat side as he passed over them, up into a half-crouch, spinning as he rose so that the blades slashed, one-two, one following in the path of the other, across the throat of an imaginary enemy. Pet's eyes were intense, focused blue as he slaughtered imaginary battlefields.
Then a real sound punctured his practices, a body shifting against one of the buildings at the edge of the space he'd chosen. His turn was incorporated into the dance, but then he stopped dead, muscles held tense and ready in a defensive position as he glared across the open area toward the man at the edge. A SOLDIER?