Flashback to Flamina’s dream, part two.
The Doctor watches as the wooden bird curls burled talons around a sea-polished stone.
The bird then grows, its body, perhaps cherry? scaling outward until it casts a shadow quite a bit larger than the cave behind it.
He can just see the outline of his fire’s light across the carved and feathery rump, the flames flickering with hungry bloom as though they desperately want to roast something.
Unfortunately, the stone has grown as well… it too is bigger than the cave, and unlike the cave, it is not hollow. Nice and round and flattish at three stone and eight, it would be a decent skipper if the ocean wasn’t so choppy. And he wasn’t so small.
So he thinks for a moment, ignoring the bird’s deafening shrieks… good thing his eardrums and everything else are constructs in this place of dreams. He turns to look at the bird, then sticks a hand in his pocket, pulling out the sponge. The bird crushes with its giant claw; fissures appear in the dappled grey surface. A trickle of water drips. Soon, a puff of fine rock dust spurts, and the bird delivers the blow that kills the poor rock dead. The Doctor claps, holding his hands so the bird’s beady eyes cannot see the hand with the sponge. He squeezes the dead sea creature, and water is soon spurting over his fingers.