[[Strongboar]]

Clay was glad for the familiar weight of a journal on his lap. His fingers trace over the soft leather pulled over wood that was the cover. His last had been full of notes...of conversations, memories, and thoughts.  His eyes water at the thought of the art that had been lost. He looks up and takes a couple of deep breaths while blinking quickly to keep from crying. It could be redone. It could be redone and rebuilt. It felt like an impossible task though, to challenging and ..and....he needed to stop.