You don't remember what it's like to really sleep.

Estimating the original magnitude of Hornfels' supernovae from the light curve of your models, you notice another. Two degrees south, it blossoms in a flash of blue heat and then begins to fade into something pale and cinder-dull.

You smile to yourself, tapping a little roll on the edge of your drum, and note it down as well. Timber Hearth is facing the wrong direction to see this one, so you will be the one to tell Hornfels about it. You're sure they'll be delighted to hear it.

Chert and a dozen half-hours they will never remember.