Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any associated characters, nor do I have any connections with BBC America.
Clara and the Doctor were running.
4 feet flattening paths in silver grain
3 hearts pounding
2 species fleeing
1 predator.
Clara chanced a glance over her shoulder to judge the distance between her and the…What had the doctor called it? Veelshkae or Virosha or something. Whatever it was, she certainly did not want to meet it like this.
Out the corner of her wide, adrenaline-dilated cinnamon eyes, she could see an immense shadow barreling towards them, parting knee-high blades of silver wisps with ease. The Doctor was just behind her. She could barely hear his labored huffs over the rustles and snaps of the shining grain.
Breaths coming ragged in the chilled evening air, she snapped her head forward and focused on running faster. Faster because too slow was to be vulnerable and everything she'd done would come crashing down to a bitter end. The soles of her feet ached from beating the compacted, chilled ground, and she could feel her Sketchers cracking at the sides of her feet. In her mind's eye, she saw herself giving up, stumbling into the peculiar blades of grass, and maybe giving a defeated wail…No. She was Clara Oswin Oswald, the Impossible Girl, and she could do this. She remembered giving herself a similar pep-talk in the mirror of her vanity, after a particularly brutal, sweaty, unforgiving run with her boyfriend. Giving up was not an option. She'd bested much harder things before.
I guess those jogs with Danny did some good…and his face filled her mind.
The coffee complexion, the way his warm eyes were curious but never pushed…She saw his lips part and smile in her mind's eye…he was laughing at a story she'd told him, the one about the boy in her Gifted and Talented English class who'd asked if Shakespeare was "…some buff Spartan from that one movie," because he'd associated Shake-spear(e) with the infamous THIS IS SPARTA meme. Danny's soft chortling had turned to a hearty laugh, his close-cropped head now thrown back as if she'd done something hilarious, adorable, or both. Oh, Danny…
Allowing her weary face to curl into a small smile, Clara's newfound impetus banished the dark thoughts like the flame of a soft candle. "CLARA!" panted the Doctor, his Scottish accent fragmented in heavy breaths. He called to her as he ran under the white evening sun, urgency apparent in his rough voice. "We need to split up-run separate ways. The wee beasty will have to choose who to run after."
Clara thought it logical, so she didn't bother to argue…until "But Doctor, it'll have to choose one way or another. One of us will be pursued alone! We can't-"
"Clara, listen to me," he huffed "the Vilroushka will chose whichever prey it thinks it can catch the easiest. It'll take one look and think me an old, easy target. You'll have the chance to run safe to the TARDIS-" he was cut off with a shriek of protest from Clara's direction.
"NO! I will not leave you here as bait!"
Rolling his eyes and staring up into the layered amethyst-lavender sky, he cursed internally at the stubborn planet of the apes from whence she came. The pudding brains never listened all the way before exploding into pointless resistance like the stubborn children that they were.
"Let me finish," he said through whistling, gritted teeth, "Once you are on board the TARDIS there is a dial to the first left of the antimatterclaustrophobicphosphatylalonsybowtie2210flourecentlavalamp ionic hydrometer that you must set to exactly X-4439 RMC's. Hit the blue button directly beneath it and it'll cause reverse transmittal interference within 2 feet of a TARDIS key and reverse the landing technology to call the key directly to the TARDIS."
As usual, the Doctor said this all very quickly in his gruff Scottish accent, not to mention panting with the exertion of sprinting from a wilder beast through the rustles of silver-infused grain…but Clara was pretty sure she knew where everything was. She was about to ask the last digit of the code when the deafening roar of a vengeful Vilroushka sounded uncomfortably close behind them. "NOW!" ordered the Doctor as he veered hard to the right.
She heard his bellow faintly; the cacophonous ringing of the animal's multiple-octave roar assailing her ears. It had been unlike any sound she'd heard before…though it did sound a bit like the war cry of one of those dragon creatures from that spin on Disney's Pocahontas a few years ago…what was that name…Avatar. Yes, that's it, she reasoned, before veering left to create further distance from her and the Doctor. X-4439, she repeated, feet aching, temples pressured with the dull throb of dehydration and an unfamiliar atmosphere.
The trusty blue box had been parked beneath a tree radiating shadows and spinning webs of colorless light. The Doctor had told her it was a tree made of nothingness, for lack of a better word. It was spun with the same nothing space itself was made of, with the exception of the energy tendrils that syphoned electrons from deep within the planet's crust. Its twin could be found at the heart of a timeless forest where the unlikely trio had emerged into the strange industrialized-agricultural meadow. Although, an argument could be made that the tree was the heart of the forest and meadow itself.
But there was a chase on. Clara chanced a second glance over at the beast they had accidentally upset, feet pounding hard into the now rocky-terrain. She missed the soft, prickling blades. To her surprise, the beast had stopped. Come to a dead halt, actually. She saw the Doctor running in the distance, looking backwards as well.
The Vilroushka reared on peppered white hind legs, its front black-razored paws hanging innocently like those of a kangaroo. It stood nearly 9 feet tall, supporting an elongated, panther-like head set with 4 dark eyes. It's slim, mauve, cat-like nose sniffed both of its prey's polemic directions before choosing its path of pursuit.
Clara forced her neck to straighten her straying eyes to the terrain directly ahead, cold fear seeping into her frantic heart. Something told her things would not go as they planned. Recognizing the inverse-shadow of a tree made of everything and nothing, Clara bolted to the dimensionally-transcendental space and time ship that would mean her safety. This time, her impetus was not of warm, heart-felt memories, but of the animal instinct to survive.
She felt a wave of cold sweat trickle from her neck and beneath her clingy tank-top with a shiver. She felt her eyes dilate further, now wide and austere with alertness.
She felt her heart jump to her throat, constricting her breaths for an infinite second.
She felt her thoughts flash out of existence, her focus snapping to the task at hand.
She felt alive.
Another shriek of the wild Vilroushka sounded across the silver savannah, a smoky purple sky brewing ahead. The heat-less, white sun was obscured from view with broiling fuchsia clouds, casting a musty glow of inevitable doom over the wild panther's newest victim.
The victim who felt so alive.