A/N: I've recently begun thinking of Eustace a lot, and so the other day when I was battling through writer's block on a totally different story, I wrote this drabbly thing. It was quite a blast to write Eustace, actually, and I'm thinking I'm going to have to write more of him in the future.

And even though it's very rambling and the sentences are mostly run-ons, remember that Eustace probably isn't the best writer in the world. So I doubt he thinks in proper sentence structures.

Sun and sand and waves and sea and a Lion and a door. Those are my memories of my time at World's End.

I remember the blazing sun, hot and prickling and large – oh so large! – and my ability to stare up at it forever without blinking, even as at the back of my mind a little voice told me it should be impossible.

I remember the sand on the beach, dry and pleasant beneath my toes as a talking lamb – but lambs can't talk! – told us to come and eat.

I remember the waves stretching higher than ever imaginable, and Reepicheep's coracle appearing at the very top for just one instant, and the waves stretching on, fluid and frozen despite the laws of physics.

I remember the sea with its lilies, and the current that pulled us right to the end of the World and the taste of the water on my tongue – like light itself – and I wondered what was in the water to make it taste so.

And I remember the Lion – that glorious Lion – who looked at me and changed me and quelled even the little voice inside my head. He told my cousins that they would see Narnia no more, and I waited with a beating heart, half-knowing and half-hoping that there was a promise for me hidden in his words.

I remember last – for last I saw – a little door in the air, like a square cut from curtain, and behind that was no more Narnia, just the spare room at home and a vague feeling of loss and the extremely unpractical thought of never again washing that set of clothes because the scent of the Lion and the sea still clung to them.

And then came the odd little laugh that was more of a sob and I and my cousins turned back to the painting and took hands and prayed.

Also, I'm currently writing a lovely long epic (I hope) Narnian story, so if you wouldn't mind, there's a poll at the top of my profile page for what the title should be. PLEASE HELP ME ON THIS! And reviews for this story of lovely too.