"What happened?" asked Moby, rubbing his eyes with his paws. He looked around to see that he was back in his fluff. He felt the hard, pebbly concrete beneath his body, and the plastic-y fluff that surrounded him was only semi-comfortable. When the blur in front of him materialized into his familiar world, he saw him kit Rakel, standing in front of him, in mouse form again.

"The priests say you fell." She informed him, in a hushed tone, so as not to worry the kits. "You hit a trap, but, in a supreme act of Man, it didn't go off. It's been a maun since you were last awake."

Moby yawned nonchalantly. "I was having a dream about being a Man," he told her, excitement overshadowing the exhaustion that covered his face, and the surprise about his condition.

Her eyes widened too, but not with joy. "Quiet! That's– I don't know the word for it, but it's bad."

"Sacrilegious?" Brad suggested calmly as he passed by on his way out of the fluff and on to school.

"Brad, don't call your father things like that!" she scolded as he strolled out the door. "Sacrilegious!" she whispered to Moby once Brad was out of earshot. "Don't you dare talk about things like that."

"But it was wonderful," Moby told her, his tone reflecting sensational emotion. She nudged him out of the coarse fluff and towards the edge of the complex. "We were all  happy! We slept in beds like the Man does, and we had all the food we could eat, and everything was beautiful."

"That's very nice, but you're awake now, and you have work." she sighed. They said you had to report to work the day you woke for us to keep getting rations."

Moby groaned at her inexplicable imperturbability and began to walk to corner 2 to begin collections for the day, grabbing a pouch for pellets at the rations station along the way, not even noticing that Meredith was gone.

He let out a deep puff of air, and noticed that the heat had begun to dissipate. At the hottest part of the daun, just as the sun set, it was almost as cool as rations time, at his last moment of memory. He figured it was 124, only remembering through Justinian of 123. He mentioned that it was chilly for the maun, and that usually 8s were hotter. The priests laughed, and informed him that it was the third daun of Zeno, 125.

"So then, Meredith was wrong? I was out for two mauns?" he asked, wrinkling his nose into a tiny pink rasin.

"No, she's right. You fell in Susannah of 124. You don't remember?" asked the priest.

"No! No! I just woke up this morning! What? How? I– it was 123 yestermaun!" Moby panicked.

The priests meowed. "You must have really hit your head. I wonder if your memory will ever come back?"

Moby thanked them tersely grabbed his pouch with his mouth, and started walking again, thoughts spiraling. "Good news," he heard the priest, Basilicus, say to Maurice. "He doesn't remember anything past 123."

Moby didn't care what they meant. He was in full freak-out mode. He wanted to know what happened! What had he forgotten? He tried to search his memory, and found the space for the extra maun, but it was all static like a TV channel that wasn't broadcasting. His head wasn't broadcasting. "What happened in 124?" he squeaked to himself, little chest moving up and down at double speed.

He couldn't brush it off. All day, as he collected pellets, and brewed them, a new thought of fear and agony rose with every step.

The End

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