"And this bit," says Gryf, "Is the short-range communicator. Terribly primitive. Works using radio waves, of all things. All you have to do is-"

"Press this button here, yeah?"

"You've used one before?"

"Occasionally." Clara smiles. "And that's it? I'm ready to go?" Her desert suit is lighter than she expected, with a balaclava like hood. It would be relatively form-fitting, if she was about a foot taller. As it is, she has rolled up the sleeves and hems of the borrowed garment and kept her own shoes.

"Ready to go patrolling," confirms the young Time Lord. "I thought we could start near the ridge where we found you and the Doctor."

"The one you had a good feeling about?"

"Yes." Gryf makes a face. "I know Evin thinks I'm an idiot, but I can't shake that there's something near there. Something important. Last time I went east. This time I want to try west."

"Then let's do it."

They troop out past Cora and the Doctor, sifting through piles of twisted metal and unspooled cables. "Be careful," he cautions, glancing up from the wires he is stripping as she leaves.

"Always am."

She pulls down her sun-goggles as they step out of the TARDIS, falling into step with Gryf.

"How long have you been travelling with the Doctor?" asks Gryf after a while; a question that has clearly been bubbling under the surface for some time.

"Oh, now there's a question. In terms of time that's passed back on Earth or time as I've perceived it?"

"Hah, I hadn't thought of it like that. Time as you've perceived it, I suppose."

Clara shrugs. "No idea. Easy to lose track in the TARDIS. Sometimes he forgets to break time down into days, and you just end up running until you drop."

"Can humans not… I mean, you don't just know?"

"Nope," she replies cheerily; Gryf's tone is curious rather than appalled. "'Fraid not. We're not as advanced as you."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Really?"

"You cooling suit is expending about twenty-seven percent less energy than mine to maintain your core body temperature, for example."

"It is? How can you tell?"

"Remaining battery life." Gryf taps the indicator lights on the power cell at Clara's hip. "I guess you've evolved a more efficient homeostatic system for regulating body temperature than we Gallifreyans."

"Huh." She makes a mental note to tell the Doctor about this in the near future; always quick to bemoan her human frailty.


They walk on.

If Clara were here she would probably hiss at him to be more sensitive! Of course, he can only tell that Cora is upset because her face is a copy of Clara's; the person he has worked so hard to be able to read.

"Look," he says, trying his best to keep his frustration under control, "We know she's never going to fly again, yes?"

Cora sighs. "Yes. I know it's foolish. I just… I always imagine it's rather sad for them to be grounded. She's a living ship, after all."

"Yes," he agrees, "It is." He runs his hand along the shattered console panel, letting the edge of his consciousness brush against the broken TARDIS's. "She knows that she is dying, though."

"Does it hurt?" She is all eyes in her face; an expression of compassion lifted straight from Clara's copybook.

He shakes his head. "Not in any conventional sense."

"Okay then," she says, squaring her shoulders. "Let's do this."

He tosses her his sonic screwdriver. "Here. It'll go quicker if you take this."

"You want me to-?"

"Your ship."

"That's not really−I mean…"

"You've been keeping her running all this time. She's as much yours as anyone's."

She runs her thumb over the power button, examining the device minutely. "Thank you."

It is surreal to see several other Clara expressions in a wholly new context over the course of their re-building. The bitten lip as Cora wrestles loose recalcitrant thermocouplings; the frown of frustration when the screwdriver struggles to free the wiring of the helmic regulator; both indicators of irritation he recognises. He is more used to encountering them in response to his own actions rather than engineering challenges.

He passes her the tools she needs when her brow creases into a familiar frown, even going so far as to fetch a cup of tea for them both when she disappears under the rotor for an extended period. He makes a mental note to raise this with Clara, who can be prickly about being asked to boil the kettle when he is engaged in lengthy repairs.

They work on.


"Can you feel it?"

Clara shakes her head. She is hot, a little dizzy with dehydration, dry-mouthed. But the dune sea here seems no different to the miles they have already crossed. "No."

"It's like… a frayed edge. Pattern in a carpet that doesn't quite match."

"This is where you found us?"

"Yes, half buried in the sand here."

Any marks of their arrival have long since gone, the sand nibbled away by the breeze. Clara takes a sip of water and appraises the dunes to the west. "Is that the direction you wanted to try next?"

Gryf nods again. "Uh-huh, I was thinking that-what?" For her companion's hand has closed urgently on her sleeve.

"Over there," Clara hisses. "Something glinting. Get down!"

Gryf drops to the burning sand, obedient but confused. "Why down? Why are you whispering?"

"You never found out what happened to Faris, did you?"

"No…"

"I don't fancy going the same way. Come on. We'll have a better vantage point from the top of that dune."

They crawl forward, Gryf still clearly perturbed by this turn of events. Her confusion turns to wide-eyed astonishment as they reach the top of the dune.

"People!"

The two figures are blurred by the heat haze, but clearly humanoid. They are dressed in ragged burnouse, faces covered by scarves. Rather more bizarrely, they appear to be tied together by a long line, anchored around their waists.

"It's ok," says Gryf, "I know who they are." She stands and waves her arms. "Hey! Over here!"

The figures stop, raising hands to shield their faces, and see better the woman waving at them like a maniac. The front walker waves back after a moment and they set off at a renewed pace to join Clara and Gryf.

The taller of the two embraces Gryf like an old friend when they finally meet, pulling down her scarf. "It's been too long," she says.

"I didn't think we'd ever see you again."

The stranger makes a face. "I'd call it good luck, our plates aligning like this, but you've been bought into orientation with him, so…."

They break apart before she elaborates further. "This is Clara," says Gryf, waving a hand, "Clara, this is Sen."

"And I'm Kastral," says the other walker, pulling off his own mask. There is similarity in their thin, weather beaten faces; a matching pair of slightly beaky noses, the same dark eyes.

"Nice to meet you," says Clara, politely pushing up her googles so they can see her face. Their reaction is not what she expects: Kastral gaps in horror, while Sen pulls Gryf roughly into cover behind her, drawing a rather antiquated looking bolt-gun. "Woah! Okay, so, maybe not so nice?" she babbles, her hands already in the air.

"Sen, put the gun down," says Gryf, annoyed. She reaches up to push the muzzle in a less threatening direction. "She's not Meanwhile. Look, you should come with us. Dinner and an explanation; least we owe you. And then you can tell us more about him."

"An explanation sounds good." Sen is still stony faced; suspicious all the way back to the TARDIS. Thankfully Gryf and Kastral make more than enough conversation for four.