Photo by Timothy Eberly on Unsplash She’s surrounded. Her initial plan was not quite like this. It was taking on one, or two of them, but four swords point at her, waiting for the first move to be made. There’s always an opening, just she has to wait for the right moment for it to appear. She could always create one, giving in for just a moment, but that maybe the riskiest more she can make. “Last chance.” Could she risk it? She might be able to take them, even if the odds are against her. She would have to move quick. “I’ll think about it.” “Too late.” The first man stabs, slower than she imagined. She gets the break she was hoping for. The opening reveals itself, and she enters the man’s space at a speed he wasn’t ready for. He reacts too late, swinging in desperation. Red bursts from his neck, and his hands drops. His body follows, and she already wipes her dagger clean with the back of his tunic. The rest of the men watch, unsure of what they sa