[ as controlled as she seems, her body has it's limits too-- and already, she's worked up a faint sheen of sweat. but her pace doesn't slow, steady and almost mechanical, despite whatever fatigue she must be starting to feel. ]

A body is only a container. There is nothing to become. I am and will always be myself, regardless of form.

[ her eyes narrow faintly, then in that clinical tone, even as she continues to push her offensive: ]

You're tiring. Do you wish to stop?