His hands chiseled away at the wood. The wood shavings fell to the floor with a light whisk. His fingers helped trace the familiar face of the girl into the wood with practiced strokes from centuries of wood working. He softly flew away the dust that had accumulated in the grooves of the girl's features. He set his tools down and rubbed his worn hands over the carving as if trying to memorize the girl's face and put it next to the perfect memory of the sight of her in his head. His hands fell down to his sides and he looked at his work.
The carving showed a girl in her late twenties with long, soft hair that fell down past her shoulders. Her eyes took in the woodworker with such compassion and love, just like she had when she was still with him, it took his breath away. Her mouth was turned up in a slight smirk, as if she was ready to get up to all sorts of mischief to drag the woodworker in to.
He smiled back and lifted his hand to cup her wooden cheek in his old, wrinkled hand. He could barely recall the feel of her cheek under his hand from centuries past.
"Doctor?" a young boy's voice called from behind him.
The Doctor sighed and turned toward the boy.
The boy had walked up behind the woodworker and was looking at the carving in awe.
"What is it, Barnaby?" the Doctor asked.
"Who is she, Doctor?"
The Doctor turned back toward the carving, taking in every groove and line and shadow of the woman's face.
"Her name is Clara," the Doctor replied. "She was one of my best friends." The Doctor and the boy looked at the carving in silence, wondering what the beautiful woman was doing now. The Doctor hoped it was something adventurous. Something worthy of his Clara. He smiled faintly, imagining his impossible girl off on adventures on her homeworld of Earth.
The Doctor finally turned back to the boy that still stood staring at the girl that helped him get a little bit of an insight into the Doctor's past life. "What did you need, Barnaby?"
The boy took a second to turn toward the Doctor, his eyes lingering on the carving of Clara. "You were summoned by the Church," the boy reported. "Apparently it's urgent."
The Doctor huffed and grabbed his cane which was propped up beneath his carving of Clara, the only thing that was going to help his fading memory. "We'd best be going then, hadn't we? The church doesn't like to be kept waiting," he grumbled, following the boy toward the door.
Before he left, he turned and took one last look at the carving of Clara, illuminated by the crack in the wall. The shadows danced across her eyes, making them seem to sparkle with happiness at the Doctor. The Doctor smiled. "My Clara," he whispered, before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.