The river pulled Tunde under.
Cold wrapped around him, crushing his lungs. Faces surrounded him—his father among them.
"You don't belong here," his father said gently.
"I know," Tunde replied in his mind. "That's why you must let them go."
The river spoke through a thousand mouths. "Stay, and the village is spared."
Tunde thought of his mother. Of the crickets. Of quiet nights.
"No," he said.
The water trembled.
"I will give you something else," Tunde continued. "I will remember you. I will tell your story. You will not be forgotten."
Silence.
Then, slowly, the pressure eased.
The river released him.
---
Chapter Seven: When the Crickets Returned
Tunde woke on the riverbank at dawn.
The village stood around him, stunned. Baba Sadiq smiled for the first time in years.
The river was calm. Ordinary.
That night, the crickets returned.
The fishermen never came back—but no one else was taken.
Years later, Tunde became the village storyteller. Every child knew the tale of the night the river spoke.
And sometimes, when the moon is low, Tunde still hears a whisper from the water.
Not calling his name.
But saying thank you.