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It's a rare thing in this life-or-death struggle, for a Servant to stop in the middle of a fight and talk rather than pursuing the kill to the best of their abilities. Though your memories of that <span class="mu-i">other</span> time and place are still a confused muddle, this you feel instinctively. A moment ago she was ready to kill you with hardly a word exchanged, and now Lancer is looking for information with that absurd cheer; it can be because she's completely confident she can kill you before you make a move if you're uncooperative. You're inclined to disagree. You feel, know, yourself immeasurably stronger than the you of a few moments earlier.
Born of confidence or anything else, this moment of hesitation on Lancer's part is still a precious gift. Wasting it answering her questions would be the act of a moron with a death wish. You gather all the strength in your body into your legs and dart off to the right while Lancer is waits for an explanation.
"Kya!"
Shijou's voice, raised in shock as you move. It occurs to you that a cloak fastened at the neck is hardly the most conservative of garments, but a girl's embarrassment at your nudity is hardly something to pause over. Before she's finished her squeak of alarm it's faded into the distance behind you as you plunge into the screening foliage.
The woods around you should be blurring, you realize. You're moving that quickly, and have lost your glasses into the bargain, but every detail is perfectly clear. You can count the feathers of a crow perched on a bare tree branch even as you whip past the tree in a fraction of a second. Nor is that the only shift in your perception. Without the need to think, every footfall as you run finds the most steady ground amidst spongy mud, evades the twisted tree root threatening to trip a man up, lands at the proper angle against the unexpected hillock or decline.
Behind you, and getting further, someone isn't doing so well. Lancer's progress is plodding when compared to her spear-thrust, as if something more than the terrain is impeding her. You recall the flash of light, and an explanation from your memories floats just out of reach. It disappears when you try to comprehend it, back into the muddle. Whatever it is that's holding Lancer back, it's doing you a favor.
The lack of progress doesn't seem to inhibit Lancer's mood any. Her voice, raised somewhere between laughter and song, echoes through the woods.
"Hoyotoho, hoyotoho! What man would flee a slight maid such as I? Heiaha! Come back, Archer, and dance with me a while! Heiaha!"
If the spear-work she did earlier was Lancer's idea of dancing, it's a style you'll have to forego. You don't have the stamina for it. Blood from your chest-wound still runs down your side with every step, giving Lancer an easy trail to follow. For now the best you can do is try to wrap your cloak more tightly around yourself without slackening the pace; stop to tie up a bandage, and you'll be caught in no time.
