Sleeping Time Lords dream productively. Unconsciousness allows no such control. A voice calls, "Doctor!" Hands reach for him. He dreams reaching back, calling the name he once spoke every day, and wakes. His newest friend is worried, or teasing, or momentarily absent. He has no need to dream her yet.

Only on days when they have already been regretting their choices, have already felt the ache of missing him renew itself, they respond to any scrape of sound, any glimpse of something battered and blue. They step, momentarily unthinking and unhesitating, toward the imagined invitation that will never come again.

"Hearts Like Camels" 050208 by merripestin at yahoo dot com
Elements belong to the BBC.
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