Verja the Lost Jungle Bunny

This is a story about something that we own. Something that was found in the Amazon River where we lived.
One day, about eight months before we had to leave, an Indian found something when he was fishing.
It was buried really deep (as in, it must have taken hundreds of years for it to be buried so deep) in the mud on the river bank. He had to dig for about five hours before he could even get to it. He said he had never seen anything like it.
It was a pot. A clay pot. A clay pot that was old and delicate. It was precolumbus. Very old.
And we wanted to keep it. So the Indian gave it to us.
Dad took it the next day to the oldest man in the village. The witch doctor. Normally, we try to steer-clear of witch doctors but the witch doctor said he wanted to see it.
He said it was from many, many years ago. That it was old. Dad thanked him and then we got out of there.
All the other Indians saw it and were amazed. It has beautiful carvings and paintings that are pretty much worn, but are still very pretty and ancient, there are little jewels pressed into the clay. The handles are made of something like brass, and the brass is still so shiny, we think it might be GOLD on the handles. What else would have lasted so long?
Dad said that National Geographic would pay through the nose, -ugh, that doesn't sound pleasant- to find something like it, so we put it on the container so nobody else would see it and try to get their hands on it. Because Dad said it was worth A LOT.
I am going to ask Mom if I can keep it in my room. I think it is just so cool.
I just thought that maybe you'd think it was interesting. I do.
And now, I am thinking that it may have belonged to someone of GREAT importance. Like a king or a chief. Or...Something.

What do YOU think?