It's morning, and Koschei finds himself smothered by Theta's constricting arms around his chest. He doesn't mind.
It's morning, somewhere. The Doctor can't bring himself to care exactly where, with the Master settling distracting kisses on his brow. It's only somewhere.
It's morning, and the Master is still adjusting to his new body, even if his 'borrowed' mouth feels thoroughly used by a seemingly reticent blonde Doctor.
It's evening, and Theta's stolen TARDIS has just disappeared, seemingly into the rising First Moon.
It's evening in UNIT headquarters—11:59:21, to be exact- and the Master's pacing in the room below him. The Doctor abandons his experiment.
It's evening on the so-called 'Planet of Fire', and the Master burns to a crisp with his arms outstretched.
It's somewhere, somewhen, with some people in some place doing something, when some Time Lord stops them cold. The other is too busy reviewing his memory to save them.
A/N: And here's some more Time Lord poetry. This is in the format of a sevenling, which you can look up if you like. I'm probably stretching it using more than one sentence per line, but, ehh.