Asha's hand tightened on the paddle, the wood smooth with river-slick and age. She felt the heartbeat melody thrumming through the water, like the land itself was calling her inward. The misty path seemed to darken, like the river was exhaling a secret.
"Omari, I think... the heartbeat," she said, voice low.
Omari nodded, eyes serious. "Whindi agree. But _tahadhari_ – be careful."
The canoe slid into the mist, like entering a shroud. Sounds muted – Asha felt like she was being swallowed. The heartbeat grew louder, like a drumbeat in her chest.
Suddenly, shapes emerged – statues, half-submerged, faces worn by time. Asha felt a shiver – who were they?
A voice echoed, like the river speaking: _"We were the guardians. Now the balance shifts."_
The canoe drifted to a halt, like it was anchored. Asha saw a figure on the shore – a woman, skin like moonlight, hair like water.
"Welcome, Asha," she said, voice like the river's song. "I am Temu, of the deep waters."
Asha felt a jolt – Temu was no ordinary guardian.