"Keep going. Come on. We must keep going."

"John-"

"No. Keep moving."

Every step was pure misery. Her arm ached from the dull thud of it hitting her side as she walked, though it had gone numb enough for it to be rendered useless by now. She thought she could feel it clotting, which was a good sign, as it would stop the bleeding, but why should it? She was slacking on her worship and she had left her whole other life behind - she didn't really deserve a healing wound.

But Riddell was adamant. He would carry her if he had to, though she'd hate that. He had to get her to that village, the village he could see just a small way off in the distance, the very beginnings of a street that could help his friend.

"Look, there's the street." Riddell pointed, and Nefertiti's eyes scanned the horizon for where he was gesturing to. She saw it, eventually - a row of little huts, not proper houses like Riddell had been hoping for, but still, homes. Places where people lived. There had to be someone who could help.

There was four houses in this little row, and they seemed to be the only organised street in the entire village. The rest of the huts were just dotted around sporadically, no pattern or order to them at all, seemingly. The huts themselves had proper walls, built from mud, semingly, that had been allowed to dry in the baking African sun. The roof was made from either straw or twigs, though the straw was more common than the twigs - there must be a plantation near by.

Riddell marched straight the the first hut, and knocked on the door.

"How will they understand you?" Nefertiti asked, clutching her forehead. She was starting to get a head ache.

"The same way you can understand me." He nodded.

Nefertiti's hand slid to the back of her head, right at the bottom. There was a chip, a miniscule, tiny chip, that the TARDIS had created. It was the only way they could communicate effectively, and it only affected speech. It hadn't yet effected reading.

"And who's to say I don't speak Swahili?" Riddell arched an eyebrow, turning away from the woman and back to the door, as it swung open.

"Wapendwa?" The woman was small, with dark skin and long, jet black hair, tied to just below her waist in a thick braid. She carried a little boy on her arm, and wore brightly coloured clothes. She didn't seem too happy to see them.

Nefertiti sighed. The chip only worked on her. What were they going to do now?

"Wapendwa, bibie. Tafadhali, unaweza kutusaidia? Rafiki yangu imekuwa waliojeruhiwa vibaya sana." Riddell spoke as if the language was his first, rather than English. He looked the woman in the eyes as he spoke, begging her with his own to help his friend. Nefertiti watched him with wide eyes - for a man who boasted about everything, he had never told her that he could speak more then one language.

"Hebu nione?" The woman looked behind Riddell to Nefertiti, who was watching them converse with wide eyes and an otherwise straight face. She had no idea what the woman had asked.

Riddell turned around, standing off to the side so that the woman could still see Nefertiti, but that he could see her, too. "Show her your arm. Under the bandage."

Nefertiti nodded. She had to walk hard to lift her arm, and as she pulled off the bandage she found it caked in blood. It was sticky, and hard to pull away from her skin. There was more blood than she'd originally thought.

Most people would have wrinkled their nose and turned away, but this woman in the doorway kept a straight face, leaned forward slightly to get a better look at the bite, and then swayed back again, returning to her original position. "Kuja katika." She said, walking away from the doorway and into the hut.

Riddell seemed relieved. "Come on," he said. "She's letting us in."

Inside the hut was a single room. It was round, and had a few beds up against one side, a little fire with a stove over it off to another side, and in the middle were several bankets and sheets spread out on the floor, where three or four other children sat, playing. All of the sheets in the room were brightly coloured, reds and greens and yellows, and the children that played on them seemed to bounce the colours off them selves, with large smiles and bright personalities. They giggled and laughed, hardly paying attention to the woman with the bite.

The woman set her child down on the blanket, and left him to play with his brothers and sisters. He was the youngest of them all, about two years old, perhaps, and he sat by himself instead of engaging in their game. She pulled a chair off from against the wall, and sat it by the window, the only small window, that didn't actually have any glass, in the entire hut. "Kukaa." She said, pointing to the chair, and moved off toward one her children.

"Sit down." Riddell said, quite gently compared to how he usually would.

Nefertiti nodded, and sat herself down in the chair. She wasn't bothered by blood, or gore, or anything of the sort, but she could feel her lunch coming back up at the sight of the ripped open flesh. Maybe because that ripped up flesh belonged to her.

"I didn't know you spoke their language." She murmured, looking away from the wound to the window.

"I've been travelling for a long time. Learning was essential." He replied.

Nefertiti simply nodded. The woman came back, and peered at her arm. She had a needle, and some thread, and she looked over it. "Mimi itabidi kuweka majani baadhi juu yake kwanza. Kisha tutaweza kushona ni."

Riddell nodded. Nefertiti was becoming tired of this. "What is she doing?" She asked. The woman went away again, having set the needle and thread down on the window sill.

"She's going to clean it up," Riddell began. "And then sew it."

"Sew it?"

Riddell nodded. "Just be brave."

Nefertiti arched an eyebrow. "I am brave. I'm Queen of the Egyptians, lady of the two lan-"

"You were. Now be brave."