"Alright, boys and girls. You really oughta can it with the storybook animal metaphors. It's getting tired. It's getting lame. It's beyond passée and I--"

And that was when the first fist was swung. Boy. Girl. Lion. Lamb. They did not care, for she was a disruption and would be met with violence. But Buffy was prepared for violence; she had been living violence since her early teens, and so she ducked. The act of ducking tore her arms free from her grabby guardsmen, and she drove her shoulder deep into one of their guts. Even through the boiled leather, it snapped the wind out of one.

There were still two men between her and the fatal sword -- plus that undead thing -- but she felt the odds were in her favour.