This time, pain mingled with the darkness, muted and hidden. But it lurked around the corner, like a serpent waiting to strike, and bite deep inside his head with its sharp fangs.

Vitch fled from the pain, frantically trying to hide in the depths of his psyche, but it overtook him once again, coming forth from its cover and attacking furiously. And then...

A thought. A memory. He felt his body swaying gently, as though somebeast carried him. It was a forgotten feeling of long-ago childhood, like a babe rocking in its cradle. But some nagging thought in the back of his mind told him this couldn't be, this wasn't his childhood...

Nothing else pierced through the ever-present oblivion. Dreams require memories to build their foundations upon, but there were no memories in his mind.

The pain returned to clutch at him, and Vitch groaned and raised his paws to his head.

"Try not to move," a stern voice said. "It is necessary to change the bandages."

The rat opened his eyes. An elderly mouse lent his paws to Vitch's head, and he began to beg, "Oh, no, no, don't touch! My head hurts terribly, I'm dying!"

"It has to be done, or it will only get worse," said the mouse, slowly peeling off the gauze. Vitch gritted his teeth, trying to suppress a scream. "You're lucky you survived such a blow, even if it was glancing." He carefully applied clean wraps, binding them tight to ensure that infection could not pass.

"What blow?" the little rat whispered, leaning back as the medical torture came to an end.

The elder paused, surprised. "Do not you remember?" he asked.

Vitch stayed silent, trying to remember. The attempt was greeted only by darkness, broken by faint flashes of light. "No, I don't. Did I fall?"

The mouse was silent. Then he mumbled something like: "Of course, such a blow would be guaranteed to have side effects. But maybe, it would be best for him not to remember..."

"It's better for you not to think about it," he answered. "I'll bring you some food. At this point it's more important for you to just recover, and then maybe you'll remember." With that, he left.

Vitch squeezed his temples with his paws. If he didn't fall, then what happened? Why couldn't he remember?

And why did the mice help him? Were they his friends? And if they were, why did they give him such strange looks?

And most importantly, who was he? Hellsteeth, he didn't even remember his own name!

Vitch flexed his paws. As far as he could tell, they were normal, for paws. He pulled his tail out from under himself. It seemed normal, but he couldn't tell what kind of tail it was. Was this the tail of a rat or a mouse?

The elderly mouse returned, with vegetable soup and an herbal tea that smelled of mint.

"Drink this - the herb mixture will help your headache, and you'll be able to sleep."

"Thanks," Vitch said.

The elder left quickly, before Vitch could say anything more. Something occurred to him: these mice seemed kind to him, but they weren't so much friendly as… He struggled for a word, though the sentiment would not be stated aloud. Their kindness seemed unnatural, as if they were forcing themselves to be friendly to him.

The elder gave him food and left. If he were truly a friend to Vitch, wouldn't he have stayed and waited until Vitch had finished eating? Or the little mouse; he was shocked when Vitch called him 'friend'.

Vitch barely ate the soup; his head began to hurt more and more.

"I hope this tea will help me," he muttered.

Maybe the mice were just so upset that he did not remember, that they didn't know how to act around him? After all, he should know them, because they knew him.

How well did they know each other?

And what had happened to him? Was it an accident?

Or something worse?

The healing tea began to act, and Vitch slowly became drowsy. The pain dulled to the point where he could almost ignore it. Closing his eyes, he fell back into the darkness.