agility and grace

I sprang at him, using my left hand to chop down on his guard while I looped my right up and over and down with a smashing palm-heel. He was fast. My lord, was he fast. I had him cold, and he still managed to twist and contort his body to empty the space where he’d just been. A matador would weep for such an evasion; a danseur would kill for that grace.
-Relentless pg. 483-484