He’s apt to get a bit of that rest the baby’s getting, he realises, as Roda’s voice, far above him, breathes raspily, “His waters have ruptured; it will not be long; when he gives birth, his entire reality will crash on top of him, if this continues and the objects are not returned. We must attend his needs.” The bird monk waves a claw over the Doctor’s face, brushing a burning cheek as his long bird face aims itself direct at Jack, “Also, where is the Pyramid? The Seven Doors were unavailable to us for a short while; I suspect tampering, or subterfuge. It must have been what caused the Doctor’s present consciousness to fracture, to… diminish, if you will. We will do what we can. But as I told him before, he should have come to us in the Flesh.”
Roda gently taps his claw on the Doctor’s forehead four times, pauses, and then a fifth. Then a sixth, and a seventh.
Then, at Roda’s direction, the litter moves backward into the green doored room, accompanied by three anxious faces, the swish of two distinct Chinese robes, and a procession of bird-men.