"I'm the rain spattering itself on a pond's surface as three maple leaves glide by. I am the clatter of hailstones on an old-fashioned blue tile roof. I am the typhoon, as copious and as warm as the shower you took this morning before the hapless cicada scared you out of the bathroom."
It was as though Miwako heard the last word, "bathroom," before it was uttered. In a flash, she had drawn her katana from the scabbard far enough to block the stroke of her master's cane sword.
Her master broke away and swung from the other side. That's when Miwako achieved satori: the time a move took had everything to do with its effectiveness.
For the rest of the match, she parried her master's blows easily. When it came time for her to issue a kill, kendo style, where his neck met his shoulder, she stopped short by a millimeter. She was training, and not out for blood or vengeance.