As the sun rises, so do those who have slept. Jo'bardu is one of them, but he also is not. Few Khajiit sleep like he has done this night. With moonshine outside and moon sugar within, Jo'bardu has been listening to the Purring Papers. Never do they speak clear, always in pictures and parables and, indeed, purrs. In his Lunar Lunacy this one has woven the paper's tales into a tapestry. It lies finished in his paws. Khajiit can feel the soft fabric caressing his fingers.

Jo'bardu sees the moons in the dawn-lit sky. Almost sunk below the horizon. Jo'Bardu knows he will not see them for a long time. He savors this last glance. But inside, Jo'bardu chuckles. Come the day after next night, Khajiit will tattoo upon their faces the mask of fear and sadness. But beneath, Khajiit will chuckle.

With amused anticipation lingering, Khajiit looks down at his tapestry. Many colors and figures he has woven. But what do they say?
Nirni's teats, smarting.
Recognition. Jo'bardu knows this tale. Or is it another one? The occasion is rare, without doubt. Khajiit will see what the next pictures tell.
False-hearted carriage, on shoddy roads, shakes the Big Cat.
This one know is sure he has heard this tale before. Too much is alike. Now Jo'bardu even remembers what this tale is about. Silly business, that. Jo'bardu's uncle had been there himself when Alkosh had rolled laughing for three days and none. He had often told the tale until Jo'bardu and his litter-mates knew it word for word.
Not-Azurah, False-Bethitah and Lie-Mafala sit around a burnt out fire.
He scratches the whiskers tattooed on his cheek, thoughful. How sad, to have spent the night in Lunacy and only learn tales Khajiit have been telling for many phases of the moons now. But then, tales tend to get better with every mouth that tells them.
Rajhin's claw under bald skin. Rajhin is young now. From high a tree as sugar-finger, deepest the fall.
A tale, not long ago. A tale still, but beyond its point of turn. Jo'bardu is now almost at the end of the tapestry. That means its tale has almost reached its conclusion.
Stairs to the Moons climbes itself backwards when Cold-Cat-Visited are Young Litter.
But weren't they always? Bald ones rarely grow up, them the least. Is this now the Turnpoint Tale, or has it already passed? Silly bald ones, do they have to be so obfuscating?
Sun in the face of Hungry Cat. Mother Nirni calls for Bigger-on-the-Inside.
Khajiit sighs. This ending he knows all too well.

Jo'bardu rolls up the tapestry, careful. Khajiit will place it with the other ones telling its tale. This one turns, sand covering the stone tiles crunching under his paws. The Two Moon Monastery is now before him, a big, black mountain against the rising sun. If Khajiit senses carefully, he can just feel fellow Moon Monks atop the Monastery's twin spires, moonipulating.

Inside, the Monastery is hot and dry. Sweet smoke rises from sugar-coated torches. Khajiit pulls back the tapestry that first told this tale. In the alcove behind lie many more tapestries, all echoing the tale, but never quite the same. He lays down his own woven version. How many more, this one wonders, will be added, before the tale comes to an end?