Fantasy Friday: Fish Tales, Part V

Nobody came for Kleo. Camp rolled on
And on, into the autumn! Each full moon,
The tropic campers cowered until dawn
As tough and thuggish troutgirls leaped, the doom
Of millions of mosquitoes. Then by day
The cold and greyish water was all theirs
In which to twirl and dance, in which to play,
Forgetting briefly those with whom they shared
That alpine lake. One morning, though, a maid
Tried jumping high, and hit her pretty head
Against the water's surface! She was laid
Out cold. As others tended where she bled
(Lest pike return!), Kleo looked at what she'd hit,
All white and solid. Now, just what was it?