[Which has him sweeping both arms upwards in fluid graceful arcs at the last moment, covering his face as he lands and leans back to avoid a strike to the head. Even like this - berserk, out of control, monstrous terrible rabid - he has enough wherewithal to protect himself against a headshot. Perhaps it may not have penetrated his brain, but there's enough survival instinct pulsing through him that he isn't about to take that risk.
Instead it thuds into his left arm, punching in through flesh and muscle and out the other side again, and though he grunts as it goes in, he shows no more concern for it than that. Again, he's yanking it free and the smoke rises up and he grasps the bloodied arrow in the palm of his right hand, all movements that take no time at all before he's hurling it back at her.
no subject
Instead it thuds into his left arm, punching in through flesh and muscle and out the other side again, and though he grunts as it goes in, he shows no more concern for it than that. Again, he's yanking it free and the smoke rises up and he grasps the bloodied arrow in the palm of his right hand, all movements that take no time at all before he's hurling it back at her.
Aimed right for the heart.]