And so it was that they came eventually to Rokfeyry and its wide bay of tidal mud. In the moonlight an on-shore breeze caught the light from sharp line of tide-scum and threw sparks into the midnight air, the salt tang gorgeous to their heath-ravaged lungs. Closer in, nearer the tide mark arrayed before them as a scythe lost in stubble, lay a beach of grey sand.
Space. Narrative. Design. 