The following is the final part of a traditional Timorese folk tale, from Fernando Sylvan's Cantolenda Maubere.
Image sourced from here
Time passed, and one day the lad returned. He hardly recognised the crocodile: his burns has disappeared and he looked plump and well fed.
"Listen, Crocodile, my dream hasn't gone away. I can't stand it anymore."
"A promise is a promise. I've been finding so much food that I'd almost forgotten my dream. You did well to come and remind me of it, Lad. Do you want to set off right now, across the sea?"
"That's the only thing I want, Crocodile."
"Then me too. Let's be off."
They were both delighted with the arrangement. The lad settled himself on the crocodile's back, as if in a canoe, and they set off out to sea.
It was all so big and so beautiful! What astonished them most was the open space, the size of the vista that stretched away before and above them, endlessly. Day and night, night and day, they never rested. They saw islands big and small, with trees and mountains and clouds. They could not say which was more beautiful, the days or the nights, the islands or the stars.
They went on and on, always following the sun, until the crocodile finally grew tired.
"Listen, lad. I can't go on. My dream is over."
"Mine will never be over..."
The lad was still speaking when the crocodile suddenly grew and grew on size until, still keeping its original shape, he turned into an island covered with hills, woods and rivers.
And that is why Timor is the shape of a crocodile.