"And what do you mean by that?" Nadi asked.
The Sandos, or Halo, or whatever Malek had called it, was still hanging loose on his hands. It was a precaution. The slippery ends of the metal, which probably must have lasted an eternity in the water, sent goosebumps through his bones, hanging out the hair on his skin. Their moist end kept drooling on the dusty floor, accentuating the discomfort in his body with their fishy smell which churned his stomach. Malak would be happy to see his discomfort, the man was going to make fun of him, but Nadi would not give him the satisfaction. Which was part of the reason why he kept gulping the nausea, and the confusion too. All his life, he has heard tales of strange creatures and how life was presumed to be beyond the borders of the grave. But a Sando
