The bare fingers of the once-beautiful trees point accusingly up at a stormy grey sky as thunder rumbles in the distance, and as the sun once again hides its cowardly face. The sound of his footsteps ring clearly through the silent woods; all living things have taken shelter from the fury of the oncoming storm, or have been scared away by storms past. Evidence of the weather is clearly displayed in the toppled willows, in the great gashes in the trunks of trees, the bleeding sap, and in the empty places where lightning ignited fires, which would have blazed for mere moments before, in turn, being doused by the torrential rain.
His hearts are more scarred can the forest can ever be, having sustained so many more injuries than could be possibly borne - yet, bear it he does, the only pain shown shining through dark eyes.
He walks down a familiar path, and ghosts laugh mockingly from his memories, just beyond his vision, fluttering down sunlit lanes with brilliant smiles beneath green leaves and blue sky. This is somewhere he knows, the way he once knew the feel her hand in his.
He reaches the clearing, now barren of any resemblance to life. The stream is dried, the pool empty. The once-sparkling cliff face is cracked, split into two. The grass is brown and prickly, the flowers blackened and dead. He gazes up at the sky, as it threatens rain, and relishes the moisture on his face when the threat is made good. It is cold, bitterly cold; freezing winds whip about him, the rain is nearly snow, and the sun does not shine.
The Doctor smiles.