As the grumbling sun set with a flop and a squelch over the dreaming spires of the floating castle, one species went to sleep, and a veritable wicker-basket of others rose to rule the velvet night.

Glowing Pond Quarks chased their own barbed tails around the turquoise waters of the Toxic Lagoon, merrily, if viciously. Their bubbling siren calls could be heard from as far away as the Great Temple of Spillages, where the Oracle was still warning the Marrowpods that melted chocolate was hell to get out of stripy shirts.

Not that the Marrowpods cared. In the Den, the toaster posed a far greater problem, since it had decided to abandon the bread to elope with the butter knife. The napkins would not be happy.

Of course, it was a greater force that was truly at work. It had been seven moonturns and a sunrise since the Ferallump had last been spotted. And that meant trouble. It was returning, and the Pond Quarks and the Oracle and the Marrowpods knew it.

But it would come back in daylight.

So that was alright.