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Summary
In the absence of speech, the moribund planet’s blustering winds seemed to roar louder than before, echoing the leonine screeches of its former inhabitants. The salmon-hued sky seemed to darken, matching the vivid colour seeping from the Doctor’s wounds.
The Doctor swallowed. “I’m...” he got out, expending almost all of his strength to stop the disease taking control.
“You’re what?” his combatant pressed on, not even a hint of humanity in his tone — or whatever the Gallifreyan equivalent of humanity was.
“Yours,” the Doctor whispered, feeling the Master’s grip on his neck loosen. “Always.”