He moved like water, flowing and smooth. There was something elegant in him, something utterly graceful. Even as she swung her hook up to catch him under the throat, she saw him both turn and reach for something behind his back. A knife, most likely. Of course he'd be armed to the teeth. So she braced herself for the jar to her arm when he blocked her swing.
Except he didn't. He hesitated. At the last moment, Ereshkigal realized that his arm was not in a position to stop hers, and if she didn't do something, she was going to bury the point of her hook in the soft tissue of his throat. Eyes widening in horror and panic, she did the only thing she could think of: she threw herself bodily backwards, away from him, hoping to knock the angle of the arc off enough that the metal point would never touch him.
She almost succeeded. Her heart broke all over again as she felt the slightest of vibrations as the very edge of her weapon slid past the tip of his chin. Both hooks dropped from her nerveless fingers as she whirled back around to see how much damage she had caused.
Fear and accusation colored her voice. "You were supposed to block that, you idiot. Don't you know I could have hurt you?"
Without thought, she moved forward, hands already reaching for him to stem the trickle of blood she'd caused.