Anakin was experiencing the same sluggish reality as Obi-Wan. The blade didn’t fit in his hand the same way, he was disconnected from it. The movements he intended in this body were unpracticed and inelegant.
Here in the Land of Make Believe, he’d had his connection with the Force cut off before, but he had been in his own body and therefore still his very own movements. (Well, the first time he was trapped as a wax replica of himself, but ‘feelings’ was indefinable when you weren’t flesh and blood anymore.) Helena’s body was well maintained, but not like the Jedi had known the last thirteen years or so.
For the billionth time, Anakin wished for his body back. The strange, silent prayers of the people of the castle.
He blocked Obi-Wan’s strike, countered and tried his best to keep to the forms every initiate and Padawan practiced practically in their sleep.