Donnant Donnant

Featuring Donnaghán and Nuala

Early Autumn, Year 762 of the New Age
Glenmore, Northern Glenwood

Nuala

Waking usually came with a sense of the world, the change between dream and reality. When she opened her eyes, things seemed not to change. Her eyelids were heavy and warm, her senses were dull and lazy, and the world seemed small and close. As if she barely perceived the world, the only thing in existence was that what was around her, and there was the persistent feeling that something else was there but beyond reach.

All she knew and all she had the mind to care for was her dry throat. Close to her was a wooden bowl of water, and so she drank. With that immediate desire sated, she simply sat and waited. Her blurry vision only revealed a den of sorts, with clutter stacked around the edges and a mixed smell of... things, others. She knew there was more knowledge beyond what she could recall, but her mind deemed it not important enough to dwell.

She might have sat there for hours, unfocused eyes resting on the far wall, but she cared not. She was warm, she was comfortable enough, there was no need for immediate action. There was a vague feeling of something needing to happen, but it mustn’t be that important if she couldn’t remember.

Something broke the light that came from the den’s entrance, and she turned and blinked slowly at the large apparition. He spoke, though his words were deep and resonating, without order or task. She simply looked up at the shadow, everything around her was not of importance. Transient happenstance.

The voice spoke again, accompanied by a touch, and she accepted it without response. Another touch, a nudge, a nuzzle. She just sat, until the voice became demanding and the touch insistent. “Up,” one of the words made it through her hazy hearing. “Up,” it came again in the middle of more words, and she rearranged her legs with mild effort to comply.

It took more energy than she had, and once she was stood it took her a few minutes for the den and the shadow and his voice to come back into focus. There were more nudges and cajoling pushes and eventually she was moved towards the light of outside. The light was bright on her sensitive eyes and she closed them, reversing and squirming away to get back inside where it was comfortable.

The shadow made noise and blocked her away. Her tired efforts to pass him were futile, and she stopped when her fleeting energy was spent. The shadow - now a hue of red in the daylight - pushed and turned her back towards the green outside and she obligingly went, having no reason or energy to resist. Was there a reason? She couldn’t think of one. Her mind was clouded and dark, and even the few thoughts she did manage to maintain at once were hard to hold on to. It was easiest just to follow the immediate whims of herself and the red shadow.

They walked until her exhaustion stopped her from taking one more step. Folding her legs, she sat down wherever she happened to be and closed her eyes. That was enough for the day. Perhaps she would remember what she was supposed to be doing tomorrow...

Donnaghán

They traveled at as hard and fast of a pace as Nuala could manage. Donnaghán’s initial excitement of their flight from Eir’s den had quickly morphed into irritation at the blurry doe’s slow progress but, to her credit, she did not stop until the sun had nearly set. With hours of travel behind them and their tracks well concealed, anyone who had followed them would be hard-pressed to find them.

With Nuala sound asleep, Donnaghán took a step back and closed his eyes, envisioning a den within which they would be concealed and safe from prying eyes. As quietly as he could, the chestnut crafted their makeshift shelter, weaving branches and leaves together until, with a final flutter of leaves, the refuge stood strong and camouflaged by the surrounding foliage.

As carefully as he could, the stag entered the dwelling, stopping just long enough to admire the peace writ across the princess’s face as she slept. The last time he had lain with her Nuala’s body had been cold and surrounded by feathers. Now, her faded cremello sides rose and fell with each breath, her silken tendrils fanning out around her like a veil. Not for the first time that day, the russet stag found himself asking what he had done to deserve a second chance with her, the most precious and most exquisite daughter of Áillte… To him, it could only mean one thing.

Óganach had approved of his announcement to reclaim the throne, to return to Glenmore its prestige. And, to help him with his claim, the god had given him his prize.

Comforted by the thought, Donnaghán crept into the den and once more curled himself around his princess. Exhausted himself - he hadn’t rested since he had watched his ‘brother’ flee and give up the crown - the stag pulled Nuala in close, sighing heavily as he drank in her comforting scent. His eyes, now heavy with the need for sleep, looked out the entrance of the den. The warm, lush tones of sunset had splashed the forest into a cacophony of red and gold and a gentle breeze sent a shower of leaves falling down around them.

This, this was what it meant to be at peace.

With the last of his waking mind he reached for his magic once more, growing more branches over the entrance so that they were completely sealed in and protected from the outside world. Satisfied and comfortable beside his wife returned, the stag finally drifted into sleep, the doe’s intoxicating aroma weaving colorful images into his dreams.

Nuala

Her second waking came more swiftly than the first, though with no more clarity of mind. She had woken to the early dawn, when the air was heavy and cold with dew but the sun was beginning to cast long shadows and cool rays that would soon warm and usher in another autumn day. The birds were yet to rise but the rustling sounds above her signalled they would soon.

Casting her eyes about the place, Nuala was certain of two things. One, that she was hungry, and two, that she appeared to be surrounded. She had little energy to spend despite a full night’s sleep, but thankfully being trapped did not prevent her from solving the first problem.

Once she was free of the antlers - little thought was given to the owner of the tines, she had more pressing issues to consume her foggy mind - she simply reached over to the vine barriers and began to pluck greedily at the leaves that covered them. Their taste was bitter and they were tough to chew but her empty stomachs demanded sustenance of any variety.

Had she took to thinking about her surroundings, gave thought to the russet stag beside her or dwell on how she had got there or where they were going she surely would not be so calm, but the ordeal of the last few days had drained much from her. It had taken more than her energy or feathers; being separated from her love, it had taken her will, her very core. Her light.

What was left cared little of her past or her fate. It cared nothing of the stag beside or or the stag she had left behind. All she could care about was what she could experience in the here and now, because all she had cared about had been taken away.

Donnaghán

The night had been kind to them. Nothing, not even curious rodents or other creatures of the night, had sought to fight their way into their makeshift den; the whole world had left them at peace, as if they understood that for once they deserved each other’s presence, undisturbed. It was as if their little hovel was an opportunity to travel back in time; that here, beneath the intricately woven network of protective vines, he could almost pretend that they were not in the heart of the Glenwood but in their old wedding den... Next to her delicate body, so carefully surrounded in his embrace, he had slept better than he had in years.

With his light back in his arms, not even the darkest nightmares could harm him.

The scarlet stag had not noticed when she had risen but when the sound of leaves being ripped out of their anchors reached him his eyes flashed open in mild alarm only to find his princess innocently supping on the vines that he had grown for them. He smiled, exhaling heavily as he simply watched her, enjoying the way what sunlight filtered down from above glinted against the faded cream of her hide and the subtle way her neck muscles moved when she swallowed.

Hunger beckoned him as he watched her eat but when he too tried to take a bite of the thick vine leaves his face screwed in displeasure. He spat the morsel that he had taken onto the ground and turned his grandly adorned head, careful to swing his rack around Nuala’s spotted hindquarters.

“How are you feeling?” He questioned, his deep voice as soft and alluring as he could manage. The stag’s heart began to beat wildly at the thought of her turning to face him, anxiously wondering how she would react after a full night’s rest by his side.

Nuala

The creamy doe registered movement behind her, though it was not enough to startle her away from her breakfast. The bitter leaves churned in her stomach but at least they had started to fill the emptiness. She munched steadily, unaware of the stag’s eyes on her. Had she noticed, it would be unlikely she would care either. His presence was welcome only in the sense that he kept the chill from her back, but she would not choose to be so close if it were not for the constricting vines.

She was appreciating the silence of the morning when he spoke, and her ear flicked irritably as if a fly had landed on it. She barely turned her head to look at him out of the corner of one blue eye. His dark gaze was fixated on her, and rather than meet it, she turned away back to the leaves. Whatever he had said couldn’t have been of consequence. It had not been a commanding tone nor a warning of impending danger, so she felt little desire to listen.

The doe had yet to even put thought into recognising the stag, or recalling memories of him. He was not the stag whose absence left a great hole inside her, thus of what true importance was he? She resumed nipping at the dark leaves, for to her, they commanded more attention than the russet stag beside her.

Donnaghán

The anticipation of the first time she would turn her eyes upon him had set his heart so afire that, when all she granted him was a minimal tilt of her head, the emotion had nowhere to turn but to the old hurts that haunted him for years. The russet stag’s face twisted briefly as he fought against the ever-present demons that lurked beneath his carefully constructed facade, painfully aware that her dismissal was meant more than just simple disinterest.

His chest rose and fell as he calmed himself; he had worked too hard to get to where he was now to jeopardize everything. Eir had said she was sick… Not well. Donnaghán’s eyes narrowed as he once more surveyed her shoulders, now barren of the strange feathers that he had first seen her with. She was different now, just as he was. She needed patience now… To be taught how to live as she had been destined to and not as she desired.

“You will respond when spoken to, Nuala,” he said lowly.

Still lying down, as the den he had created was too small for him to stand comfortably for long, the red stag carefully unpinned his ears from his skull. With another exhale, Donnaghán collected himself. This time would be different. It would be better. His was deep and commanding -- but calm. “Now, let us try again.”

“How are you feeling?”

Nuala

The pale doe had just plucked another leaf when the stag’s voice came again. This time there was something in the tone that commanded more attention. Dropping the leaf, she turned to look at him fully, ears sweeping back and tongue nervously licking her nose. The words themselves meant little, but their rough edge and the striking stare of the stag had her heartbeat quickening.

She squirmed, edging away as far as the cocoon of vines would allow. His eyes on her felt like they were boring a hole in her side, and she made a strained noise of distress in her throat as she tried to look anywhere but at him. The lack of escape route panicked the doe further and she scrabbled to get her feet under her and stooped against the curved ceiling.

Her rolling eyes caught sight of a brighter shaft of light making its way through the woven prison from behind the stag. Steeling herself, she scrambled around the red bull, scraping past his hooked antlers and diving for the small gap. Her head fit but it took some wiggling to get her shoulders through before the vines tried to caught her. She stumbled and fell on the other side, but the little nourishment from the vine leaves gave her the energy to get to her feet.

With an ungainly lope, she made her bid for freedom. The empty forest beckoned, where there were no red stags and harsh voices and vines to hold her. She remembered the forest, she remembered freedom, she remembered...

Donnaghán

He smiled encouragingly as she turned to look at him but, as she began to edge away from him, the hopeful expression on the stag’s face fled at the sound of her distressed voice. No, no, no! She was supposed to respond to him, not fight! The princess’s resistance and panic began to send him into a downward spiral as he clambered to regain her attention. “Do not shy away, Nuala,” he spoke, his voice a deep rumble as he tried to reach forward to touch his nose against her side, “I only wish for you to learn your place.”

No sooner had he reached out for her than she ducked beneath his tines and scrambled out of the den.

Donnaghán’s brows furrowed and he tried to stand as she arched her back against the vines. His topmost tines hooked onto some of the curling tendrils and he grunted, shaking his head as he tried to rip himself away. “Nuala!” The sound of tearing vines and crackling branches broke the silence of the morning forest as the scarlet stag ripped down the roof that he had created. Using his magic to clear a path, Donnaghán dashed after the princess, the vines that were still entangled in his crown trailing after him.

Any other day she would have been able to outrun him but in her current half-state, Donnaghán caught up to her quickly. “Stop!” His chest heaved, fear of losing her in the forest once more making his heart beat far faster than it should have. “Be sensible, Nuala! We do not have time for your silly games!” But still the creamy doe ran onward, paying little attention to him. Frustration, coiled like a snake deep in his breast, began to slowly rear its ugly head. The vines behind him became ensnared in a tangle of roots, bringing Donnaghán forcibly to a stop.

His princess continued to run, her creamy hide slowly getting further and further from him as he struggled against the vines. “Nuala, STOP!” He cried, his voice desperate. “Please!” But she wouldn’t. The stag bellowed loudly as the pain of her betrayal once more stabbed him in the heart.

Emotion clenched at his throat but, as sadness gripped the stag, he closed his eyes against the light. His magic grasped at the vines that held him and, grabbing the thickest and strongest one, he sent the vine after Nuala. The tendril hissed as it moved slicked over the leaf-littered forest floor until finally it found its mark. With a sharp crack, Donnaghán created a lasso from the vine and - with constricted grunt - he sent it sailing over the doe’s neck and pulled.

Nuala

Nothing. The vague shadow of the memory that had tried to surface was whisked away by the bruising yank that pulled her back by the neck. Squealing in fright and pain, the doe’s momentum sent her body onwards and head backwards, nearly throwing the doe into a backward somersault. She fell, twisting and landing heavily on her side. The moment she was down, she was scrambling to get to her feet despite the stars crossing her vision.

The vine around her neck made her cough and wheeze, and planting her hind feet and rearing back gave her no slack. She bucked and she squirmed and she spent all the energy she could muster trying to escape the hold he had on her to no avail. Soon she was panting and lathered and spent, managing only to stand as she laboured for breath.

She could focus only on her loud breath, the throb of her heart in her chest and its pounding in her ears. Her mouth was dry and her flanks were dripping and cold, and she wanted nothing more than a drink and a warm den. Suffice it to say, she would get neither soon.

She could just make out the red hulking shape in her periphery vision, but she barely had the energy to flinch let alone try and run again. She stood quivering, finally still and compliant. What else could she do? She couldn’t run she couldn’t hide; the only action she could take was the one he allowed her.

So she obeyed.

Donnaghán

His own body wrenched forward as Nuala’s momentum and body weight pulled the vine taunt. Bracing himself with his strong legs, Donnaghán threw back his head and, with wide worried eyes, watched in horror as the princess stumbled to the ground. “Nuala!” He had taken no more than a few steps before the vines that tethered him pulled again, forcing him once more to stop. “Calm yourself!” He pleaded as the princess struggled against the lasso and made his head jerk around.

The red stag clenched his teeth and pulled back again, giving his own head some slack as Nuala struggled against the vine that stoically clung around her throat. Every time he tried to loosen the vine she fought more and, on several occasions, nearly freed herself which forced him to grip down once more.

What was surely only minutes felt like hours when Nuala finally stopped fighting. His own sides heaving from the effort of holding her, Donnaghán stared at the doe suspiciously. He half expected her to break into another fit of flailing limbs and mane but the longer she stood there panting and the more he stared at her disheveled appearance he finally realized that he had won the battle of wills. Relaxing his own neck with a sigh, the stag took a moment to free himself from the vines that had entangled him.

When he had slipped the last vine that anchored him to the roots out of place, Donnaghán approached Nuala. He stood tall as his dark brown eyes stared down at her, his expression unreadable. “It did not have to be this way, Nuala,” he said, his deep voice somewhat edged with the hurt that the struggle had caused him. This wasn’t what he had wanted… But what choice did she give him? He would not lose her again and, if force was what was required he would provide it. He regarded her for a moment longer, until with another sigh he nosed her shoulder in the direction of Glenmore. “It is time to go home.” She didn’t move at first but, with another nudge, the doe stumbled off into the correct direction.

Around her neck still hung the vine, the physical tie that now bound them together as they slowly began the long journey home.