It was the silhouette of the keeper.

Down below, the three shapeless bags began to move.

Freya was trembling with emotion like an enthusiastic and impatient spectator.
Something fell into the water, descending little by little, a bit of dead sardine that was scattering filaments of meat and yellow scales.
An odd community interest appeared to exist among these monsters: only the one nearest the prey bestirred himself to eat.

Perhaps they voluntarily took turns; perhaps their glance only reached a little beyond their tentacles.
The one nearest to the glass suddenly unfolded itself with the violence of a spring escaping from an explosive projectile.

He gave a bound, remaining fastened to the ground by one of his radiants, and raised the others like a bundle of reptiles.