Speechless

An experiment; I find I depend far too much on dialogue to continue my stories, so this is me, going right back to the basics.

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There is nothing anyone can do for her now.
She can feel the grass, sprinkled with dewdrops, brushing against her face in the pale pink light of dawn. It cools her skin, flushed and warm and dripping with perspiration from a night of heavy training. Closing her eyelids slowly, she breathes deeply to take it all in, aware that she may never have another chance like this again. The morning breeze smells so good...

It can never last.
She is startled by a noise; a rustle of leaves, the slightest sound, which could well have been the wind. But she knows better than to let her guard down now; it could be the difference between a victory and a loss. A life and a death.

At once she springs to her feet, reaching for the knife concealed within her boot. She eyes her surroundings warily; perhaps, she reflects, in retrospect it was not a good idea to relax in a clearing surrounded by trees. Good cover for an assassin.

As by her training, she closes her eyes. She may be more vulnerable now to an attack from in front of her, but she is now better protected from the far more likely possibility that -
She whips round, eyes wide open, and slashes right across the chest of her attacker in a long diagonal line. When her eyes are closed, of course, her other senses are honed; honed in on her attacker. He snarls at her and leaps backwards, clutching at the wound in his chest, which is now oozing blood. He does not, however, back down.

She is not easily deterred either - not even when he takes a dagger of his own from a sheath at his side. He growls, and she cannot help but notice his similarity to a snarling, dangerous dog. Light on her feet, she sidesteps around and attempts to stab him from under his ribcage at an upwards angle from behind; at the last second, however, he grabs her hand, while still facing in the opposite direction, and grips her wrist tightly so that she lets go of the dagger. He then twists her arm round, with such force that she has no choice but to comply, so that her back is to him, and grabs hold of her other wrist.

He sneers in victory, but does not anticipate her next move. She leans her head forwards, and moves it back with such speed that she's sure she hears a crack of something in his face breaking. In her second of freedom, she grabs the knife and twists round to face him, having the upper hand now as he clutches his wounded and bleeding nose in agony.

While she does want him dead, she does not want him to suffer... much. So as he is clutching his nose, she reaches forward nimbly and jams the knife into his temple. He collapses to the floor, and is no more.

She breathes deeply. Perhaps a rest would not be the best idea right at this moment.