Mutt's back hand had collided with your hand as you attempted to jam your hilt into his gut. The resultant was a now badly bruised right hand, and ...

"OOMPH!" 

Your hilt had connected with the parting of Mutt's ribbs , and he stepped back with his bruised hand raised in a stop sign. His abbs would have prevented a serious blow, but your hilt landed a bit to high for them to stop, much thanks to his back hand. Mutt was severely winded, and knew from experience this is when you call quits if you can. "Stop i give!" He forces out, while trying to regain his lings strength.

He had been kneed there once by his father. "Alway protect your core. It guards your lungs, they are the key to all we do. Your ribs and pectoral muscles will protect your heart, but there is an exposed area right there." Getting the hilt end of a sword to that same spot brought the conversation back to mind. Mutt let himself fal back, onto the floor to catch his breath. He wasnt even slightly winded until that last strike, and now regreted leaving himself open like that. Holding still gave his brain time to take in what had just happened, and he realized he smelt blood! His own blood at that. Without further ado, he lifted his left arm, and used his wide flat tounge to lick the cut you had inflicted upon him.