Chapter Thirteen, Part One: What Goes Around, Comes AroundMature

Pasmo turns to a monitor. It displays the current day, then speeds through a Dromiean’s diatribe about the weather for the next twelve years. Something about temporal die off in Mutter’s Spiral…                                                                                     

“Well old man, those damn rings make me feel drugged. But, let me get this right. You’re saying she’s… … growing- in there?” Dressed in only a long nightshirt and a black hoodie, the Master sticks a finger in the Doctor’s general direction. 

Following his Lord President’s finger as it pokes at the unconscious Time Lord on the medical bed, Pasmo raises his shoulders. Absently the Master wonders if he’s attempting a shrug, but then the old man opens his mouth, trying rather messily for speech around a mouthful of fish, “I think that’sh exactwy what he did. There musht have been no ovver way. When Nemontiarwa came to me and towd me, I immeeditwy cawwed the guardth.” <swallow> “Ah, these are lovely this time of year. Regardless, the group I had sent out to look for him found a trail of bare footprints leading all the way to the Pythia’s Tower. He was like this when they reached him. You, on the other hand,” Pasmo takes another raw bite, from the belly this time, “- they found thpawwed on  the fwoor of the TAwDIS. Boff of yoo were weawing these odd gowd wings.” <swallow>

The End

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