No response. But as she touched his shoulders, she would be able to see brief flashes of some of the memories he was caught up in.

Ducking, weaving, kicking. The sword in her hand flashed in the dark, clanging against the sword of her opponent. Battle rage filled her, pounding in her head like the drums of the dance.

The sword blades slid along each other, slicing at the air and at one and other.

Her blade found skin, and hot blood spurted into the night, filling her senses with its nauseating, coppery, heady scent. Driving her on, making her bare her teeth and snarl and laugh...