A strange, high-pitched whimpering sound echoed across the meadow and rocky terrain. The reverberations mildly resembled the whimpers of a litter of puppies, only the individual whimpers came in tetra chords. The cries blended within each other consecutively, producing a sound gentle as the coo of a dove.

The great cat sunk to all fours, its ellipse head turning swiftly towards the cries. Clara recognized the chords as the coos of the kits the Doctor had been showing her before the angry mother had returned to the den…and all of this began.

While the cat was distracted, Clara rolled herself over, grinding her teeth in pain, and began to inch towards the door again. Her head swam and she shut her eyes tight, partly to steady the world, partly to cut off her view of seeing the lifeblood seeping out before her. I'll make a centimeter and hour like this…

She tried not to yelp as two long arms looped under her own, catching her by surprise and relief that the dark figure was back for her. Anger rises and she began to protest how dare you leave me to that animal-by shrugging away her shoulders, but she is too weak and immersed in a pain like none she had experienced before to have any influence in the matter. Physical condition aside, Clara held her tongue in shock as she realized she had not seen the familiar flash of red silk when the figure had come to drag her away…her heart seemed to pound slower in this moment, despite the adrenaline fighting to keep her alert. She felt herself become sluggish, and the pain seemed distant...a relief. A frightening relief, at that. Fear kept her mind ticking away as more feeling was lost among the creeping darkness. They were alone on this meadow, she was sure of it…The old thought of living shadows surfaced in her mind again, a thought that felt lifetimes ago, but in reality, had been less than an hour. How time flies…

She could not tell when the figure had left her, but she felt herself placed between two particularly thick roots of the nothingness tree. Dehydration and blood loss numbed the pain, only to replace it with a dull aching sensation that became her. A musty veil distorted her vision as well as her mind, a kind of blank stupor that was neither peace nor uncomfortable. Though she was exhausted, her eye lids became heavy against her will…she didn't want to sleep…she needed to stay awake and monitor this shadow…..needed…

Her tired eyes struggled to see in the darkness, but the long, orchid head turning to her needed no further details to distinguish its identity. A paw step closer, thump…another paw step, thump…a speckled paw twice the size of her face stepped down in front of her, thump…sleek, ink-black claws curved to a razor-point glistened in the TARDIS light, one paw rising in slow-motion off the ground-

The form of the Vilroushka was instantaneously outlined by a growing white light close behind it; the muscled shoulders tensed as the wild cat grew cognizant of the lengthening shadows. The light grew, causing a chill-inducing ray of warped light to glisten off the terribly large canines of the great panther. A fresh wave of dread offered an escape for Clara to come to her senses—achieving a blast of clarity from the fog that was her mind—relying solely on the survival instinct to flee at the mere ferocity of the beast. The instinct that told her to feel alive once more…one last time, possibly…

But all her brain was able to do was to tell her to raise her head, a newfound aching beginning at the base of her skull as she peered onward, towards the light befuddling the Vilroushka.

The peppered wilder beast began lifting and stomping its trash-can-lid paws in agitation at the blinding light; being a night prowler, the Vilroushka was unaccustomed to the antithesis of its most active time: a rare, moonless night comparable to a starless universe. An ear-splitting yowl emerged from its throat as it scrambled awkwardly, looking to back away from the light. Its feline tail whooshed sharply in front of Clara as the light pulsed and grew in intensity. A soft hum reverberated in the lavender medium…she swore she could feel it quake within the dusted redstone.

As the beast turned away into the night, Clara saw the shadowy figure once more, now a triumphant silhouette before the pulsing orb of white light. The figure turned to face her, stepping towards her, the silver wisps shining in the diminishing light as if being sucked away into its own black hole of cavernous space…The night expanded, engulfed her vision and mind until there was naught but a moonless, starless night to accompany her. She could do this no longer. The muscles in her neck gave way against her will. Her brain forced itself into sleep mode until it could compensate for the damage her body had attained. Her cinnamon eyes still gazing fixedly into the amethyst darkness, her mind gave way. Her eyelids remained half-closed as the cinnamon seemed to fade instantaneously into a dustier, dull brown. Her jaw slacked just enough to part cracked, bleeding lips.

The night had swallowed away the bright lights, and the Vilroushka had fled. Only the black figure remained beneath the moonless sky, surrounded by a grayish cloud—light-residue of its Vilroushka-disarming device. It began to walk slowly and deliberately towards Clara's body.

Before it could venture nearer to the limp, beaten form and the space-tree, the TARDIS emitted the familiar grating, wheezing, whining noise so many have come to adore. The light pulsed at the top. The figure withdrew its course as Clara's person began to shine with light as well, a golden shine equivalent to that of the energy rings of the space tree. The defeated body lay awkwardly across the roots, limbs at various odd angles and head hanging dejectedly backwards; her throat's curve was illuminated by the pulses of light, emphasizing its vulnerability. The figure observed the glazed, half-open eyes with distaste and pocketed the light-wand.

As Clara vanished with the pulse and wheezing of the TARDIS, its royal blue doors opened with an unceremonious squeak, casting a strange golden light on the gritty redstone. The Doctor stepped out quickly in his magician's apparel, proud of his successful vanishing act. He faced the figure, both clouded hazily by the strange gray residue-fog. The Doctor could not clearly see his adversary, though the other had a clear view of all from within its misty domain.

"Give me your coat; your companion is in need of medical attention and you are required elsewhere," said the shadow. Its voice seemed monotone, as sound was warped as well as sight in their current atmosphere. "Who are you?" demanded the Doctor, "and why on Gallifrey would you need my coat?" He felt himself being fixed with an imploring yet impatient stare. "Trust me. Give me your coat. There's no time for resistance." The Doctor could see the figure was moving, though the direction was unclear. "I have the activation device for the Vilroushka kit's whining."

The Doctor had emerged from the space-tree with the intent of leading the Vilroushka away by activating the whines of its kits, but had discovered, in a panic-induced terror, that he was without the device. It had been then that he fled into the TARDIS after seeing Clara was apart from the beast.

The Doctor began to step forward, exasperation apparent on his features…until he felt a sticky resistance at the bottom of his shoe. He had been standing in something wet and dark…turning slightly to allow the TARDIS' pale light through, he saw he'd been standing in a pool of darkness. Crimson and unmistakably human, judging by its metallic stench and thin viscosity. His attack eyebrows knit together in frustration, and he blinked slowly. Now rigid and extremely cross, the Doctor spun to face the figure prepared to spew some harsh Scottish invectives his way. He must have been there while Clara was being shredded, he surmised.

"Resistance? Don't talk about bloody resistance. I'm resisting the urge to bludgeon you against that godforsaken tree-"

The figure held up a hand; clenched tightly in his fist was a glinting metal object. The fog obscured the Doctor's view, and he knew any harm to him was wasted time. A weighted silence hung on the Doctor's shoulders. Clara could be in great danger…in his mind's eye he hung his head for allowing his Impossible Girl to fall to another danger. Without him, she would not suffer. She would not be spilling lifeblood on the stones of some unfamiliar planet, and she would not have died countless times protecting his sorry-

"As you were saying…" echoed the black figure.

A fresh wave of bitter rage shivered down his spine and unsettled his hearts.

"Resisting," he spat. "Barely."

"Give me your coat. I will tend to Clara, and you must do your part."

"Why should I allow you in my TARDIS? My friend is wounded and is clearly" he motioned to his boots "in dire need of medical attention. I don't like you anyway, so why in the name of Rassilon's beard should I not return to my ship and blast off this deathscape?!" His Scottish accent rumbled the r's, allowing him to be properly angry. Waving an impatient hand through the mist, the Doctor trudged on towards his TARDIS with a gruff "Och! You're wasting my time." A "…my coat indeed…" was barely audible as his boot splashed minutely.

"Simple. Don't you trust me?" A whir of glinting metal shone against the TARDIS light, and the strange metal object came arcing towards the Doctor. Catching it easily with his long fingers, the Doctor examined the object by TARDIS-light, breathing deeply in the sluggishly dispersing fog. Contact with the object had an almost immediate effect. His experienced face curled in amusement..."Ooooh that's cheating, that is." He looked at the figure with newfound curiously, and proceeded to take off his coat.

Approaching the figure, his face became clearer. His hearts not completely trusting, and still smoldering with misdirected anger, the Doctor's own gray eyes pierced the paleness of the stranger's.

An understanding.

He did not know him. He predicted he never truly would. Funny thing, the future. One never can tell…

Nonetheless, the Doctor handed over his magician's coat, TARDIS key still in pocket, and gripped the sturdy cylinder of metal firmly, his knuckles white with mounting anxiety.

The lapel-less Doctor stood amidst the mist as he allowed, barely, this distrusting stranger to minutely stroke the door of his TARDIS with spidery fingers before casting a wary glance at him. The stranger grinned, he gleaming teeth mocking him from the threshold, a veritable Cheshire cat. He disappeared into the TARDIS. The doors shut slowly behind him, and the Doctor just stood there.

As the silvery midst cleared, his head seemed to clear as well. His eyebrows furrowed yet again…what had he done? No key, no TARDIS…Clara injured with some distasteful illusionist prowling around…

What on Gallifrey was he thinking!?

Panic spiked in his hearts, and he visibly flinched as the lock of his TARDIS door clicked sharply in the amethyst darkness.