[ And, in fact, there is a bow. Horror of horrors, it's pink, now stained to something muddier and reminiscent of mucus. The loops of the bow have fallen into disarray, too. But if you squint, you can see the idea.

The terrible idea.

Nash reluctantly points to the remains of bow, now lying in the dirt beside the creature. ]

I guess it makes sense, if you consider that it's the terrible things about life that are always true.

[ Hmmm. ]

We'll probably have to cut it off.