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omiGOD, con.

I'm going to a convention. My first con. Um, eek?

And me with no boots.

I know I'm lovely. I know I'm prettier than many girls. I'm going to a con! I'm bringing my cards. I'm bringing a notebook and pens. I made a new bag for my cards. I'll bring my crocheting. I stop at the fabric store for a new crochet hook and ribbons, white and cream, to pin the Bastard's colors to my sleeve, pilgrim/cleric, I.

I need to get out, you see.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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