Mary Anne knows that smile; she's seen it in the mirror a time or two. It's not good news.

Still, she's learned a thing or two in the brief exchange. She lets the rifle slide out of her grip, her right hand already moving up and over her shoulder--reaching for something that shouldn't be there but suddenly is--to draw her sword.

She feints to one side, then dashes to the other, hoping to close with the sorceress before the girl can full track her movements. She ignores the burn in her shoulder and the chatter of the gun, all her attention focused on the sorceress' face.