The first thing to strike the Doctor as he walked into Wakeling's house had a wingspan of about a foot, and eyes that glistened black.

It launched at him in a flurry of clak and caw the second he stepped through the door, thick black feathers pounding against his dark jacket.  The Doctor instinctively tried batting the creature away with his umbrella, but the thin fabric was no match for beak and claw.  It soon tore, entangling the bird in its delicate folds.  The Doctor was forced to drop the umbrella, and it clattered to the ground, taking his attacker with it.  By the time it had managed to free itself, Wakeling had entered the room and stood protectively in front of the Doctor.

The raven looked up sulkily at its master for a second, then hopped up to rest on his thin shoulder.

'I'm sorry about that.  Arabella can get a little feisty around strangers,' he explained.

The Doctor dusted himself down, eyeing the raven cautiously.  He picked up his damaged umbrella and looked at it forlornly, eventually wrapping it so tightly shut that the tear couldn't be seen.  He would still know it was there, though, and it would never keep the rain out again.  Or the sun.  Never come to rely on anything, the Doctor told himself.  In the end, you'll always regret it.

Out loud, he said:

'I didn't think ravens were native to Heritage.'


'They're not,' Wakeling agreed grinning in such a fashion as to let the Doctor know there was something he didn't know. 'In fact, we've not managed to find anuthing that;s native to Heritage alone, these last few minion years.'

'Perhaps it got tired of the dust,' the Doctor said, under his breath.

'No, Arabella's not a native.  She's ahobby.'

The Doctor looked at Wakeling over the handle of his deceased umbrella, and raised an eyebrow.  Wakeling smiled that smile again, charming and warm.

'I made her myself,' Wakeling explained.  'Grew her from a sample I brought with me from the Gene Zoo on Earth.'

The Doctor looked at the raven with a modicum more respect; before it had been a murderous assailant, intent on having his eyes - now it was a scientific marvel.  He glanced at Wakeling once - the younger man bobbed his head slightly, the pretence of permission asked and granted - and then turned his attention back to the bird.  The feathers looked brimming with health and shine.  The eyes shone, the beak glistened.  It was remarkable, and the Doctor said as much.

Wakeling nodded again, but this time his grin gave gave him away.

'How old is she?' the Doctor asked, intrigued.

'How old would you say?' Wakeling replied, cagey.

The Doctor squinted again, but was careful not to get too close to the beak.

'An hour or two at the most,' he announced finally.  'Given the progress of the cellular decay.'

Wakeling smirked again.

'Three years,' he answered smugly.

The Doctor nodded, as if this too was exactly the answer he'd expected.  He turned away, walking deeper into the house and moving objects around with the tip of his umbrella.  Toys and scientific equipment fought for space on  the threadbare rugs, little else gaining space in the small shack.  All all, it wasn't particularly enticing living quarters.