"Hoi!"

The sword-bitch swings. Saturday parries from the ground, grunting. Stacia can see the blow jar her.

"Get the edge - " she tells Stacia, shoving the slender side of the net at her with one foot, and then scythe-bitch is on her and she can't think about anything but the next blow, not even Stacia's safety. She pirouettes away, blade flashing, and the masked women giggle as they pursue.