Rhiannon's muscles were taut with anticipation as she and the wolf circled. She kept her sword at the ready, its ghastly purple hue illuminating the hands that held it. The desert, which had been silent before, was now rich with the sound of the animal's low growls and Rhiannon's breath huffing in and out. When Marius snapped, she leapt backwards as if she were on springs.
Still, it was fast. Its teeth caught on the fabric of her pants and easily rent them apart at her thigh. A canine grazed Rhiannon's knee, and the saliva burned.
She hauled her sword in the air and brought the hilt down on Marius's head with a full-forced crack. Moving backwards and out of its range, Rhiannon gave the sword another testing swing.
It allowed her to fight from a distance, which would be considered preferable in most cases, but it was not a weapon she typically chose. As if able to anticipate her needs, the sharp tip drew inwards towards the hilt. Quickly the sword took on the familiar shape of her preferred weapon, a katar. It was a punching weapon, the hilt of which could be gripped and rested across her knuckles. The blade gave the illusion of being singular, but secondary blades could be engaged on either side of the central one, inflicting maximum damage with one stab.