"Hold up now, he's a fighter." Which he feels through the low thrum of the line going taught against aluminum and plastic. Sharp and strong and-- if his memory isn't too far off-- big enough to be a damn good meal for the pair of them.

"Can't take a fighter down by bull rushing him and hoping for the best."

His reel doesn't budge, isn't rolled back. He leaves it where it is to go slack and pull, over and over again till the tugging starts to slow.