Wash scowled at Molt angrily, but in truth had been quite shaken by the grizzled old slig's words. Then Slap trundled back into the room and began asking questions about him.
"Erm, I am eight, I think. Actually I've never really kept track of the time, my life has sort of blurred together. That's about nineteen in mud years."
Slap waited for his next response, which annoyed Wash greatly.
"Hey, how am I supposed to know my temperature? You're the doctor, surely you have a thermometer? Isn't thirty-six degrees-see normal for a mudokon?" Later he would feel bad about the harshness of his response, but he had been thrown off-key by the prosepect of his impending doom, if Molt and his fingers had anything to do about it.
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