The Meticulous Hypothesis: Part III: Vengeance/Do they call Saturn "the moon" on Titan?

It was late at night. The wind howled harsh nothings into my ear. I rounded the corner of an inner city boulevard only to see an upturned turtle, withering away in the desolation of the cold. I ran over to the turtle and clutched it tightly with as warm of an embrace as I could muster. The turtle died in my arms moments later. Salty orbs of hot emotion flowed down the side of my face as I screamed at the dark abyss of the night to bring the turtle back. Broken and alone, I carried the empty vessel of my new friend with me.

I will never forget him. Or her. It's hard to tell with turtles.