On the scrap of paper that this was sketched on, I scribbled a little blurb of profound thought, which was inspired by a wonderful day out on Dungeness Spit with three wonderful people... ahem, meeces:

One says, "That's how memories are forged." We say this as if the memories are something solid, tangible, something that can be taken away and clung to long after the event has submerged beyond the visible layer of time. I say that instead we are forging this moment, and memories are the mere frail ripples left in the wake of this forging, reflections left to remind us that the past is contiguous with the now and, though it may be out of sight now beneath the waves, it is as eternal as we are and forever ours whether remembered or forgotten.

From left to right: Flynn ( Ribnose), Mamba (Moi), DanaMouse ( Claire_LaMouf) and OrvMouse ( Orv)