He makes a lucky parry as El comes after him again, managing to just sidestep a powerful blow to slide it off his blade instead, instinctively twisting his body away from lightsaber sparks that don't come; and he looks toward Eleven with a raised brow at those words, starting to circle him a little restlessly once more.

"Oh? I only hope that's a compliment," he observes wryly over the top of his sword, his footwork indeed shifting back more defensively as he feels El winding up for something. 'Intuitive' is certainly one way to describe how he's been darting out to range and back in to strike with little rhyme or reason or pattern to his choice of forms; he seems to find it even harder than El not to instinctively reach for a ranged blow of lightning, but makes up for the occasional half-fumble by descending on his sparring partner in precisely those moments when El's intent attention has wavered a little. The influence of the Force, perhaps. Right now all his senses are trained on the other man as he braces for that next incoming blow.