“See there, ‘Kos?” the Doctor asks softly, eyeing the giant, turnip-line roots of the inner canyon as he waits for his friend to circle to his own location among the spiral of crystal-threaded stones they’ve been traversing for the past quarter hour. “It’s just that way; you can see the beginnings of the inside trail leading into the Cloud itself.” He pauses, leaning on an upright stone. “Ah, I’m tired; all this double-routing and cobble-tooling is really wearing on me.” he calls, tapping a finger to his left temple as the Master’s dark toffee eyes come round the ridge and find him at last. “So, how do you like the view?”
The Master wants to scream. But he just grits it, balls his fist and stares out at where the idiot has jammed his fingers in a vague ‘come see’.
At last- he can see the entrance to the Cloud near a strange waterfall of diamond drops; the silvery water is running uphill, as if a beach could spill skyward toward the lightning and still birth rare struck glass.
There are nests of silver-veined trees in the air, floating like congealed soup in mid-atmosphere. Like magnificent growing tongues, they curl and uncurl great fern-canopies of hovering ecosystem, footed with bits of dirt and dangling rock held in long, spindly dark toe-roots.