Notice the attention to the subtle movements of the matador...
From
Last Breaths in the Spanish Bullring
Ungrateful is, of course, ignorant to all of this, panting and bleeding away, glaring only at his nemesis. Tomás’s focus returns to the bull and his expression softens for an instant. Then he leaves the animal waiting in the center of the ring while he calmly paces over to the barrera and is handed his sword. He returns to the bull and holds his cape unfurled down his thigh, his other leg back, then brings the handle of his sword against his cheek to sight the tip of the blade between Ungrateful’s shoulder blades, the kill zone about the size of a silver dollar. The roar of the crowd reaches a crescendo as Tomás stands with the bull in pristine silence.
Tomás remains perfectly still and poised, sword in hand until, suddenly, unexpectedly, he drops it to his side, out of view from the bull. Blood glistens and froths from where the bull has been pierced by the picador’s spear and the dangling banderillas. Tomás then lowers the cape like a shade, an invitation, until the bull obliges and follows it down the point of his horns, bowing his head, unknowingly exposing his most vulnerable area to the sword’s tip. Then, with a jerk of his wrist, Tomás releases the sword and gravity carries it to the ground.
With the same hand, he now reaches over to his cheek and sights the kill in mime as the bull prepares to embrace fate. Tomás tugs at the cape and then springs forward to lance the bull just as it ignites at the same moment toward him.
But this is Tomás. He sails over the horns and slaps the bull on the precise location where his death would have arrived. The bull quickly turns around, faces Tomás one last time, an apparition, before the man turns his back, strolls off, then turns and beckons the bull to exit the ring, summoning him from the light to the darkness, from death to the rest of his life.
Then Tomás walks away, back into the ring, alone amid the weeping and the cheers.