The eighth egg, the egg of Whakatane, has abandoned its structure of camouflage. Instead it is close to the water. It lies exactly on the boundary between the radiantly blue sea and the coarse and grey sand. Like a cornerstone it rests on the boundary outlining two spaces that cannot become one. And is it not the water that grinds sharp edged stones round? As such, in this place, with its stony rigidity and its silky smoothness, this egg becomes the symbol of this boundary, of its place.