The Fitz of a year or so ago would have laughed that off, and paid for his rashness. But he's learnt a lot from the suffering of the past year. He sets his jaw and nods, his mouth a thin line, then turns his attention to her attack.

He twists partially out of the way, but her blow catches him right in the rib he currently suspects may be broken, and he stumbles back, gasping, doing his best to keep his guard up while spots dance in front of his eyes. Given that both of them are in some pain, and he would very much like to focus on what she's saying, he lowers his sword and raises his hand. "A moment."

Fairly pathetic, he tells himself, and both Burrich and Hod would have little patience for it, but it has been a long, confusing and most of all painful day, on the tail of weeks of hard travel and little sleep. He can hardly qualify anything he's done since coming here as sleep - it's been almost exclusively unconsciousness of the knocked-out variety. So perhaps he's justified in needing to catch his breath.

As he leans on the weapon rack, panting, he adds quietly, "The Avoxes are their silent servants? What do they do to them, to make them so compliant?"