Nobody noticed as, tendrils extrorse, the feathery cephalopod floated down in the darkness of the night and rested upon the telephone cables strewn seemingly haphazardly between the buildings in the sleepy Spanish town.
Nor did they notice when the centre of its body exploded into a cloud of spores which drifted in the breeze and onto rooftops, or into open windows.
At dawn the townsfolk stirred themselves, drowsier than usual, and went about their business.
The festival would begin today, there was still much to be done.
Time was short now.
Soon, the Mother’s eggs would hatch within the chosen.