The horrendous shouts tore through the quiet calm of the lake.
And hearing all this made something inside Grandma Wanda finally snapped.
Her heart pounded so hard that her chest ached. Her old hands trembled, not from fear, but from rage so sharp it made her vision blur.
To hear these men, these filthy, shameless, godless men, speak of her granddaughter like that...to hear them chant about cutting her open, feeding her to a monster—
No.
No one. Not even the gods above would ever dare harm Nala while she still drew breath.
"You wretched dogs!" Wanda hissed, her voice quivering with fury. "You dare speak of my granddaughter like that?!"
She slammed her cane into the ground once, hard enough to make the dirt crack. Then, before anyone could react, she moved.
Despite her age, her body coiled like a spring, fueled by decades of hauling nets heavier than men, of pulling boats through storms, of fighting against the wild waters.
And with that strength, she swung.
