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Hooray for midnight writing attacks!

Got hit with a plot bunny about three a.m. and had to scribble down notes. Since it was only a short piece, I got it done this morning while waiting for the plasma place to open. Therefore, I'll have "The Man who Lost his Name", drabble-length, to share with the writing group this evening.

Unfortunately, my growing creativity is fighting with my body's world-imposed schedule, wishing me to return to my natural schedule of noon-to-early-morning for my awake times.
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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