Treebeard’s Ghost appeared out of the brush and lamented, “My ficlets! My poor ficlets!”

“Shh,” Stovohobo interjected, “we don’t use that word anymore! It’s too painfull!”

“No, not the new ficlies. The stories I had back on the ship! I didn’t rescue them in time, and now they are lost forever!” A collective gasp was heard from the assembled ficlites, as they recalled those they had left behind.

“Not to worry!” Kevin said. “I have built this!” With a dramatic flourish, he pulled back a tangle of leaves to reveal a large stone building, a shrine. “Your stories are not lost,” he announced to the assembled. “Their memory shall live on forever in here, The Ficlets Memorial. It contains every story of the Ficlets that once was.” He removed his hat and bent his head in quiet reverence.

The silence was broken after a few moments by Treebeard’s Ghost, who began an uppity sea-chanty memorial dirge. “Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale. A tale of a fateful trip…” Soon everyone was dancing.