That gets a low growling "Uuugh," from her, but it's mostly just pulling his leg. Or the sound of her stomach maybe. Either way, Ellie spends the next ten minutes idly tugging her line and watching the bobber shift across the surface of the lake, gently propelled by the occasional flick of wind or underwater eddy.

And she may not have a watch, but neither does he (not one that's worth anything anyway) and between the two of them she thinks she's got a pretty good handle on how much time has passed. So eventually she starts reeling in her line. The hook and bobber come flicking out of the water and she struggles a few moments to catch the line as it sways gently back and forth. Once wrangled, she stuffs the fishing pole down in the bottom of the boat - pats the tackle box reassuringly. "Alright little buddy, time to meet your maker."

You know, if it hasn't already. Jeez they could've thrown some water in there at least or something.