Mounds of branches and leaves lay in Turlough's wake. He continued slashing through the brush, trudging forward with heavy steps. His movements were somewhat less ungainly than they had been; it seemed that his body was growing more coordinated, but his breath still came in sharp gasps, as though he had to make an effort to breathe.

He was drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead even in the cooling evening air. Finally the sky grew too dark for him to continue his work. He turned slowly, his eyes moving over the piles of debris he had left. His hand opened and he dropped the ax.

He stood for several minutes, immobile except for his head, which slowly rotated from one side to the other. His hands hung limply at his sides, the ax forgotten, the pain from blisters across his palms unregistered. After a time he took several steps toward a tall tree and reached up to break off a small limb. He held it before him, then slowly he bent to set it on the ground.

Turlough's hand rose to push into his jacket pocket. His fingers fumbled, but after a few seconds he withdrew a book of matches. Deliberately his knees bent so that he could squat over the branch as he pulled a match from the book. This took some time, since his grasp was still clumsy. The fine motor control would come eventually, but it required more planning than the gross motor movements.

Finally he managed to strike the match and lower his hand to the limb. He did not blink when the tiny flame caught on the leaves and began expanding. Smoke rose up, filling his nostrils and stinging his eyes, but he did not recoil. He coughed, then after nearly half a minute he lifted the impromptu torch high into the air and shambled toward the nearest mound of kindling.

The Doctor's eyes scanned the jungle, desperate for any sign of Turlough's whereabouts. Now that it was dark he knew he would have more difficulty finding the young man. A small glow glimpsed through the trees ahead, however, gave him a glimmer of hope. Perhaps the night would work to his advantage. Someone had a torch in the jungle, and he felt relatively certain that he knew who it was.

The Time Lord hastened toward the light. After a few seconds it vanished, but he continued in its direction. He realized that it was only a half mile or so from the village. When he saw the light intensify and begin to spread, he knew that Turlough had succeeded in igniting another fire.

He ran ahead, smelling the smoke as he got closer. He began calling his companion's name, hoping that Turlough would be able to respond. To his left he heard rustling in the brush, and he paused for a moment to squint through the darkness.

"Turlough?" he cried.

A figure stepped out of the bushes. "No, it's Aveoh."

The Doctor exhaled. "Run back to the village as quickly as you can. There's another fire." He gestured toward the growing mass of light less than fifty meters away.

Aveoh gasped. "Who has done this? It wasn't her—"

"No, it wasn't. Now hurry! You have to stop it from reaching your homes."

Aveoh sprinted away, leaving the Doctor staring at the fire. He began running again, toward the smoke and flames. When he was only a few meters from the blaze he stopped, eyes darting over the area. There, at the edge of the flames, stood Turlough, his hair fiery in the red glow. He was staring straight ahead, not making any effort to move away from the smoke billowing all around him.

"Turlough!" called the Doctor, hurrying toward his friend.

The Trion youth did not respond. When the Doctor reached him, he grasped his arm, but Turlough seemed entirely unaware of his presence. The Time Lord began pulling his companion back into the jungle, away from the fire. Turlough did not resist but moved along with shuffling steps and halting breaths.

When they were clear of the smoke, the Doctor stopped and turned to face Turlough. The young man was staring straight ahead, his pale face lit by the distant glow. The Doctor studied his expression for a moment then lifted his hands. The palms were raw and blistered, but he could still see the healing gash across Turlough's left hand.

Now the Doctor directed his gaze back to Turlough's eyes. He snapped his fingers hard before the boy's face, but this elicited no response.

"I know what you've done," the Time Lord said slowly. "And I believe that you can understand me." He watched Turlough's eyes, seeing the pupils widen slightly as the focus improved.

"That's better," he continued. "You might try to even out his respiration, too. He's not breathing very well, and at this rate he's probably going to pass out."

He waited for nearly a minute, listening to the uneven breaths as they became incrementally steadier. However, the Trion youth was still struggling to breathe naturally.

"Hmm," commented the Doctor, "it seems that you can't control some of his autonomic functions very successfully. This isn't going to work, you know. Whatever you're trying to do, it's destroying him physically." He wrapped his fingers around Turlough's wrist. "Heart rate is accelerated, muscular coordination is low—you won't be able to use him for much longer."

Turlough's mouth opened, and he made a series of grunting sounds. The Doctor waited until the noises coalesced into intelligible, if halting, speech.

"Help… us," Turlough finally said.

"What is it that you want me to do?"

It was painful to watch the young man's mouth as it twisted inexorably to form the words, but the Doctor remained silent until he spoke again.

"Find us… a new… place… to live."

The Doctor nodded. "Yes, that's what I thought you were after. You've been trying to alter the environment, but you understand now that you can't change it quickly enough to suit your needs. Turlough can't burn down the entire planet or poison all of the plants—you'll kill him long before he can even begin to make a dent in the ecosystem."

"We… know… that now."

"You must release him immediately."

"Not… until… you take… us away."

"I can't take you anywhere until he's able to tell me where my ship is. You have to free him so that he can do that."

Turlough's head swung to the side, his facial muscles contorting as he choked out, "No!"

He coughed violently, struggling to catch his breath. The Doctor saw his legs buckle and reached out to grab his arms. "Stop this! Killing him won't do you any good. At least allow him to function—to breathe on his own."

Turlough's head lolled back, but his mouth formed the words, "He will live… until we… have a new home."

"At what cost to him?"

"There are… thousands of us… and he is… only one," Turlough's voice croaked out. He gasped again in an effort to inhale.

The Doctor rubbed at Turlough's chest to stimulate more even respiration. He could hear agitated voices nearing and realized that the villagers had arrived to fight the fire. Wrapping his arm around Turlough's back, he began walking toward the village, keeping amongst the brush in the hopes of avoiding a meeting with any of the residents.

Turlough's legs moved unsteadily, and his breath continued to come in ragged gasps. The Doctor focused his own attention on reaching the village then Cabar's hut. He heaved Turlough through the doorway, eyes locking on the wan young woman who lay on a mat upon the floor. A blanket covered her legs and torso. The shaman sat beside her, tending a small flame over a bowl of incense.

"How is she?" asked the Doctor immediately, lowering Turlough to the ground. The young man sank back against the wall as the Time Lord hurried forward to check on Tegan.

"I've done what I can," Cabar replied. "She's in the spirits' hands now. I pray that they will see what she has sacrificed and take pity on her."

The Doctor bent down and touched Tegan's cheek to find her skin still too warm but not violently hot as it had been before. She was breathing shallowly but steadily, and her heartbeat, while not as strong as he would have liked, was rhythmic.

"She hasn't awakened?" he asked.

Cabar shook his head. "No."

The Time Lord removed a small torch from his pocket and, lifting her eyelid, shone the beam into her eye. He sighed. "Well, at least she's not comatose; brain activity doesn't appear altered. I suppose we'll just have to wait for her to wake."

The shaman had shifted his attention to Turlough, who remained slumped against the wall, eyes open wide but gaze unfocused. Cabar stood and walked cautiously toward the Trion youth.

"I feel it now," Cabar said.

The Doctor straightened. "Yes, there is another presence living within him. That's what you sensed before."

"But it's not a spirit? It's hurting him—it must be something dark."

The Doctor returned to Turlough's side. He removed his companion's tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, speaking as he worked. "They are having a very negative effect on him, but I don't believe it was their intent to harm him."

"They? Doctor, I don't understand."

He rested his hand on Turlough's chest and murmured, "A bit better, I think." He looked up at the shaman again. "You told me that you had always felt a spiritual presence by the stream, that it had been there for generations

Cabar nodded in acknowledgement.

"It wasn't spirits. It was a race of sentient beings, an entire world so small that it fit within a few crevices in a rock. It was their life force that you sensed."

"But they must have been so tiny! How is that possible?"

"A friend of mine once wrote, 'There are more things in heaven and earth…than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" The Doctor appeared lost in reminiscence for a moment, then, with a shake of his head, continued. "He meant that we cannot know all that exists in our world or in others. Did you know that there are entire galaxies," he swept a hand upward toward the sky, "that would fit in that bowl?" He pointed at one of the incense containers.

Cabar's expression showed his astonishment. "I had no idea."

"No, most humans don't. But at least you're open to the idea."

"So these tiny people lived in the rocks by the stream."

"I'm not sure that 'people' is an accurate word, but yes, these beings have dwelt there for centuries, I would guess—probably since before the volcanic eruptions. Most likely they were travelers who were somehow stranded here. As the environment of the planet has changed, they have found it more and more difficult to survive. An oxygen-rich atmosphere is not ideal for them. I believe that conditions had grown so inhospitable that they felt their only option was to leave, to find a place more suited to their needs. But they required a means of travel. May I see your hands?"

Cabar blinked in surprise at the sudden shift in the conversation, but he held up his hands for the Doctor's inspection.

"Ah, yes, just as I thought." The Doctor touched a few nearly-healed blisters on the man's palm. "You had injured your hands the night before we arrived."

The shaman nodded. "I was attending a birth, and the mother had a difficult time. Her pain was terrible, and I had to prepare a great quantity of incense and herbs for her. My hands were raw from the mortar."

"They sensed the open wound and tried to enter your body through it."

Cabar gaped at the Time Lord. "They wanted to get inside me?"

"Yes, I think so. However, something stopped them; for some reason they weren't able to enter your body. But what you felt that morning was their attempt to do so."

Cabar shuddered as his eyes moved to Turlough. "They took him instead."

Lifting Turlough's wrist, the Doctor nodded. "He cut his hand on the rock that they lived in," he explained, touching the scrape. "They slipped in here then traveled to his brain, where they worked for several days to take full control of his mind. He must have resisted at first—some part of him was still able to function normally—but from the very beginning I think they were influencing him. They made him set the fire and put the poison in the stream. They were trying to change the environment back to the way it was before."

Cabar exhaled deeply. "How can we send them away?"

"I'm not sure. If I knew why they had abandoned their attempts with you it might give me some idea…"

Tegan made a small noise, something between a sigh and a moan. The Doctor returned to her side. He could see her eyes moving beneath her lids. He took her hand and said gently, "Tegan, can you hear me?"

Slowly her eyes opened. "Doc… tor?" she whispered raspily.

"It's all right." Carefully he lifted her head as Cabar handed him a cup of water. She took a sip before her eyes moved to the shaman. She nearly choked as she gasped and huddled into the Doctor.

"He's not going to harm you," the Doctor told her, wrapping his arm around her. "You're safe."

"He…" she stammered, snippets and flashes of terrible pain returning to her memory. "He tried to kill me."

"I'm sorry," Cabar said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I didn't know… I thought I was saving your spirit from the darkness."

Turlough coughed, and she turned her head to look at him. "Cripes, what's the matter with him?"

"He's been taken over by another life form," the Doctor replied.

Cabar was surprised that Tegan did not seem particularly disturbed by this. Indeed, she simply nodded.

"That explains it," she said. "He moved the TARDIS and set the fire, didn't he? He must have poisoned the water, too."

"Yes," confirmed the Doctor. She was still leaning against him, so he lifted her chin and looked down at her. "I'm sorry that I didn't believe you."

She did not acknowledge his apology. Instead she said, "How are we going to help him?"

"You," he emphasized the pronoun, "are going to rest here." He pulled the blanket back up over her. "I need to think."

He stood and clasped his hands behind his back, pacing the length of the hut. Cabar offered Tegan the cup of water again, and she took it hesitantly from his hand.

"I have no words that can express how sorry I am," he said softly.

She did not look at him but granted him a very small nod. They both watched the Time Lord walking back and forth. After a few minutes he halted abruptly.

"That's it!" he exclaimed, spinning on his heel to face the shaman and Tegan with a grin.

"What's it?" she asked somewhat warily.

"The dreaming tea," he answered. "That's what kept them out." He walked toward Cabar and continued, "You drink a great deal of it, don't you?"

"I use it often."

"Could you have had any in your system that morning by the stream?"

"I had taken a small, weak cup just before I went to bed, but I was summoned by the midwife, so I never slept that night."

"But the chemicals might have remained in your body." The Doctor began rummaging through the dried herbs that sat in baskets on low shelves and upon the floor. "What's in it?"

Cabar began, "It is a sacred mixture—"

"I understand that," the Doctor interjected, "but Turlough's life is at stake. Show me what you put in it."

Cabar stood slowly and walked to a small clay jar on a shelf near the wall. He handed the container to the Doctor, who lifted the lid and sniffed it. He squinted down at the contents. "I'm not sure what this is."

"It comes from the toads that live near the stream."

"Venom?"

Cabar nodded. "They secrete it when they're frightened. I don't harm them when I take it—"

"Of course not."

"You make tea out of toads?" Tegan asked.

"Not the toads, Tegan, just their venom," the Doctor clarified. "Among some species it's a powerful toxin. On Earth more than one unfortunate family dog has died from licking a toad that's secreted the bufotoxin as a natural defense mechanism. In small amounts it can have hallucinogenic properties when ingested by humans. That's why it seems to stimulate dreams when used here."

"And you're thinking that if you give it to Turlough it'll kill the critters," she finished.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Kill them? I hope not."

"But look what they've done to him!" she protested.

"They had no choice. I'm not happy about it, but I do understand their desperation. I'm hoping that the toxic properties of the venom will make his body uninhabitable for them and that they'll simply leave."

"But how do you know it will work?" asked Cabar. "You can't be certain that it's what prevented them from taking me."

"There's only one way to find out," the Doctor said brightly. He was already walking toward the small fire that burned at the back of the hut. "Anyone for a pot of tea?"