The Veil of Danu

New Lands (3)

The world came back to me in fragments—warmth, the crackling of a fire, and the heavy scent of herbs and wood smoke. My ribs throbbed with a dull ache, but it was a far cry from the searing agony I'd felt before. Blinking my eyes open, I took in my surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the glow of a hearth on one side and the faint afternoon light filtering through a small window. The walls were rough-hewn timber, lined with shelves overflowing with jars of dried herbs, bundles of flowers, and strange trinkets. A wooden table sat in the corner, laden with what looked like hunting tools and the remnants of a meal.

I lay on a simple bed of straw and fabric, covered with a thick woolen blanket that smelled faintly of pine and smoke. My head throbbed as I tried to sit up, and a sharp voice startled me.

"Ah, she's awake," it said, a heavy Scottish brogue curling around the words.

I turned my head, wincing as my ribs protested the movement, to see a man crouched by the fire. He was broad-shouldered, with graying hair and a weathered face that looked carved from stone. His eyes, though, were sharp and calculating.

"Stay down, lass," he said gruffly, rising to his full height and brushing his hands off on his kilt. "Ye're lucky to be alive, by the look o' ye. I wouldna move much if I were you. You'll tear those stitches."

"Stitches?" My voice came out hoarse and cracked, and I instinctively reached for my side.

"Aye, ye were a mess when we found ye," another voice chimed in, younger but just as thickly accented. A teenager appeared from a side door, carrying a steaming bowl of something that smelled earthy and medicinal. He was tall and gangly, his brown hair wild and untamed, and his freckled face was alight with curiosity.

"Da says you're Fae-touched," the boy said, setting the bowl on a small stool beside me. "But I think you're just unlucky."

"Quiet, Leith," the older man snapped, though there was no real anger in his tone.

Fae-touched? My muddled brain struggled to keep up. I licked my dry lips, trying to gather my thoughts. "Where...where am I?"

"Deep in the wilds, lass," the man replied. "Not far from the Falls o' Rowan, though I doubt ye've heard of it. This land isna on any map." He crossed his arms, eyeing me. "Name's Ewan MacKinnon, and this is my boy, Leith. We found ye under the Ro tree, half-dead and babbling nonsense."

The Ro tree. The waterfall. It all came flooding back—the storm, the fall, the floodwaters. Nox. My heart clenched.

"My dog," I rasped. "Did you find a dog with me?"

Ewan's brow furrowed, and Leith exchanged a glance with his father.

"We saw no dog," Ewan said finally, his tone cautious. "Only you, lass. Ye're lucky we found you at all, or the wolves would've done for you by now."

A wave of despair washed over me, but I forced it down. Nox was strong. If anyone could survive, it was him.

Leith leaned closer, his face full of curiosity. "Are ye really from the Fae lands?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"What?" I stared at him, baffled.

"Your clothes," he said, gesturing to my tattered ranger uniform folded neatly on a chair. "And that red hair—it's like the stories. Da says you might be Fae-touched, but I think—"

"Leith," Ewan cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument.

The boy ducked his head, muttering something under his breath before retreating to the corner.