The Unicorn whips its head up in alarm one fraction of a moment before the TARDIS senses the bitter rot of Zagreus' presence, and so they stand ready and resentful when the monsters approach. So much for a peaceable dream.
The TARDIS almost doesn't feel like deigning his mocking greeting with a reply, but his conduct with his manifestation is of interest. Even she can read the unease and wariness in its stance, and his forced dismissal of it. Before she gets a chance to make use of that, though, the Unicorn apparently takes offense enough for both of them and snorts, "I am real," in Gallifreyan, meaning order and purpose and certainty. Somehow this startles the TARDIS; it seems far too intimate and wrong to address them in the dead language of her architects, the language of her pilot, and her hand tightens in the Unicorn's fur. "Metaphors are for things that don't exist, Sickness", it adds in English.
"It seems your manifestation has more sense than you," she says, trying not to let her moment of disquiet show. "You ought to take its advice." In agreement, the Unicorn lowers its head somewhat to point its wrought horn in the direction of the nearest disgusting head, the taut muscles of its front legs twitching like it's bothered by insects, itching to kick or flee.
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The TARDIS almost doesn't feel like deigning his mocking greeting with a reply, but his conduct with his manifestation is of interest. Even she can read the unease and wariness in its stance, and his forced dismissal of it. Before she gets a chance to make use of that, though, the Unicorn apparently takes offense enough for both of them and snorts, "I am real," in Gallifreyan, meaning order and purpose and certainty. Somehow this startles the TARDIS; it seems far too intimate and wrong to address them in the dead language of her architects, the language of her pilot, and her hand tightens in the Unicorn's fur. "Metaphors are for things that don't exist, Sickness", it adds in English.
"It seems your manifestation has more sense than you," she says, trying not to let her moment of disquiet show. "You ought to take its advice." In agreement, the Unicorn lowers its head somewhat to point its wrought horn in the direction of the nearest disgusting head, the taut muscles of its front legs twitching like it's bothered by insects, itching to kick or flee.