He finds it where the tide has just turned, in that stretch of wet sand where everything left behind gathers for a moment before the sea decides what to take back. At first it looks like any other shard, dulled by salt and movement, but when he rinses it in the shallows, the shape shows itself — sharp, clean, unmistakable. He turns it over in his hands all the way home, careful not to drop it, not even once. His father is out when he arrives, nets hung to dry, the boat still rocking gently where it’s tied. The boy sets the tooth on the table and stares at it for a long time, as if waiting for it to change. By the time the light begins to fade, he has found a way to fix it in place. The chain is not perfect, the joins slightly uneven where the copper has been worked and reworked, but it holds. When his father returns, he says nothing at first, only reaches out and lifts it, testing the weight of it in his hand. “Found it,” the boy says, as if that explains everything. His father nods once, and later, when the boat goes out again, the chain rests against his chest, the tooth tapping lightly with each shift of the tide beneath them.
