With Gar and the Minister of Blades next to him, Oliver supposed that he could have lasted an eternity, but finally, his exhaustion indeed was beginning to mount. He'd lasted longer than could have been possible, but after so long spent defending, and then attacking, the weariness was undeniable. The more he sought to retain the sprightliness that he'd managed to preserve from before, the more the winds and the witch that commanded them seemed to turn against him, as if calling him a liar, and pointing out his weakness for what it was.
He was forced to put less strength into it all. A soldier that he could have finished with a single counterattacking thrust now took two, simply because he didn't have the strength to summon up the speed that he once did.
