He told them about the groaning. The shape in the dark. The metal that floated up. The thing moving under the water. The hit. And with each detail, the mood in the village shifted. Because the truth was, Joaquim wasn’t the only one who had noticed something strange lately.
One man said he’d heard odd noises near the bank a few nights earlier while checking traps. Another swore he’d seen a black curve surface for a second just after dawn a week before, but had assumed it was driftwood. Someone else said fish had been avoiding that stretch of water for days. Within an hour, the story had taken on a life of its own.
By the time the group decided to head out and see it for themselves, nobody was calling it driftwood anymore. They went in two boats. Joaquim was in the front of the first one, though not by choice. Everyone insisted that if anyone knew where to find the thing again, it would be him.
And when they finally reached that same stretch of river… they saw it.
