The whole scene had turned utterly surreal.
Even the villagers, who had spent the past half-hour standing bravely between life and death, were now staring in baffled silence. Their savior, their hope, their so-called hero, was standing at the entrance of the village talking to a half of a fish.
One of the older fishermen blinked several times, leaned toward Nala, and whispered.
"Nala...dear...what exactly is going on here? Why is your boyfriend...uh...talking to a dead fish?"
Another woman added nervously, "We know he's on our side, bless him, and he's trying to help us out...but what is he doing right now?"
"If he's gonna bring something, couldn't it at least be a weapon? Why in the world did he bring a fish that's cut in half?" A younger man rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
And then one of the village elders muttered under his breath, "I don't mean to sound rude, but...is your boy missing a screw somewhere? He's holding that fish like it's his child."
