As they both leave the last view of the camping area they’ll get for a while, watching behind them for any sign of wakefulness on the part of the other two members of their party, they follow the stone dust-strewn path down through some bluish-silver brush with round copper leaves, their fingers close to the cool rock walls on either side.
“The way in from here is pretty straight forward, Master,” the Valeyard says, his chest heaving slightly as he stops to lean on one of the long natural walls, “… in fact, I believe there is a clearing ahead where we can see the affected area quite clearly. It isn’t far… this stupid malfunctioning Flesh, I’m going to decommission this thing when we get back- throw it in the pit, where the Pythia can have it.”
“What is that, then? That underpowered Flesh having a bit of trouble with the altitude, you prepackaged git? This is better than Gamestation telly! You should pay attention- things have changed since you’ve been gone.” the Master sighs in content, happy now that the Valeyard is showing signs of wear again. The Doctor’s plan must be working. It -will- work.
“At least I’m not the one who likes bubble wrap. Pot, kettle, much?” the Valeyard quips, his mouth half open with the effort of breathing.
As the Master watches, the Valeyard’s chest rises higher and higher with each breath, as though trumpeting for air.
Suddenly the man falls forward in a heap of tweed and rabbit hair, flopping onto the Master like a limp fish.
“Ew, get off me you moron!” the Master squeaks, trying to disentangle himself from the mess of arms and pockets.