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Description

Featuring Deirdre and Madigan Madian
Introducing Luiseach Madain
Early Spring 771 of the New Age
The Needle, Glenmore

Deirdre
It was different this time. The first time she had carried a fawn she had felt a mire of regret, certain that the hot-blooded impulse to allow The Dain to cover her had been an egregious mistake. She had kept stalwartly to herself, determined to show no weakness, and to prove that despite being swollen with his spawn that she was as capable and as ferocious as ever. She would not be just a mere harem doe, or just another notch on this year’s rack. But the season between their first entanglement to the more recent, and the meddling of more divine forces had tempered Deirdre’s feelings toward Madigan Madain. He had come to represent something more than a bothersome booty call. While she still had a penchant for threatening back legs and dirty looks, she literally lit up when he was near her. The easy way she brushed his shoulder with hers, casually lopped a tail over his back, or gave a playful bite indicated that much of the irritable posturing was just for show.
She was brightly shining the majority of the time these days, as she preferred to stay close to the heavy stag when she could. Deirdre’s ever-present luminosity was practically a beacon to prying eyes and she was ever worried that the wrong eyes might see her and deliver the news to the wrong sets of ears. Those that carried light magic were coveted by the glade rats, and an anomaly like Deirdre would almost certainly be taken captive or killed. Unwilling to have her freedom snatched away by the crown, The Ram had offered it to The Dain for safekeeping, choosing him to watch her back when she could not. It was a lot for a notoriously independent and headstrong fawnling to lay at the feet of another.
It was a decision she was glad she had made, especially as her belly ballooned, full of what she was certain would be another handsome hardy son, and her finely honed reflexes slowed and a portion of her very considerable strength went to the task of growing a new life. She had become prone to sighs and long admiring glances. Without even realizing she had all but settled into the position of harem doe, and The Ram would happily maul anyone who dared point it out.
When it became apparent that the time of her delivery was imminent Madigan was the first she had called on, whether he hung around or not it was entirely up to him. Deirdre’s labor with Marrok had been easy and the pup slipped into the world without drama. This new colt seemed extraordinarily reluctant to leave the confines of his mother’s womb in spite of the black doe’s forceful insistence.
Deirdre laboured through the morning, afternoon and long into the night. As the starlight gave way to the rosy glow of the pre-dawn it was becoming readily apparent that both mother and baby were tiring and rather than presenting with a foot and a petit nose the night’s efforts had only produced a pearly white hind foot and a curly little tuft of tail. Deirdre lay prone in the sparse shelter of The Needle’s coarse grasses, her mane hung limp and her sides were crusted with dried perspiration. The radiance that had once blanketed her, and likely preserved both her and the child had faded to a meager flicker.
“Help me dammit.” the doe croaked out wearily.

Madigan
Maddy was not a traditional stag, or at least didn’t consider himself one. While tendrils of the Glenmore way snuck into his thoughts and perceptions by times, he never looked at Deirdre and considered her a doe that he possessed or a glade ornament. He did, however, marvel at his own ability to grow her from a log-hauling dark coat into a princess. It was certainly something he had greatly contributed to, if not outright caused, because to The Dain it could only been his lifting Deirdre up, empowering her, and challenging her to be part of the family that would have ever made a god take notice. No one, not even the divine, would have eyes enough to see her as she had been. But as she now was? What a sight to behold. A unique blend of misfit and princess. Of dark and light. Doe and stag. Mad had helped her to realise that, and the more she seemed to appreciate it the happier he was.
Madigan enjoyed having Dei hanging around him more. He had come to stay with her and the pup in her home on a couple of occasions. He had always invaded Deirdre’s life just a little more than she was prepared to allow, and once she had opened up to him more fully she would find that Mad transitioned from boyfriend-held-at-rack-length to whatever-we-are-now quite naturally. He was subtley pushy, persistently invasive, never took ‘get away from me’ for an answer, and was relentlessly charming in a mush-mouth sort of way. And Deirdre, she was bullheaded and mean but she took orders and rose to every challenge. She had a soft side, and a hard side, and Maddy liked to be on both.
They were getting deep under each other's skin, that was for certain.
The stag had lingered around for Deirdre's labour, much as he had the first time. Unlike Marrok’s birth where he had been forced to slink around the shadows like a lean fox waiting to make off with whatever birth-scrap it could, this time Mad was allowed to be present. He had watched the early bits with keen yellow eyes and some interest. Then he’d fallen asleep for a while. It was Deirdre and not dawn that woke him, however.
The big black stag’s eyes burst open as the doe’s strained croaking rended his sleep in half. Suddenly bolt awake he saw the black doe still laying on her side and still straining to push out his spare. Maddy didn’t even have time to be curious about the whiteness of the leg tiredly twitching behind Deirdre, nor did he have time to be grossed out by the task at hand.
“Oi goh it,” he told her quickly as he lunged to her side, “Oi goh it!”
Mad grabbed onto his second born and began pulling. Mouthful of scrawny leg, then haunch, and all manner of fluid. The big stag eventually set a hoof on Dei’s haunch and continued to tug on the struggling new life.
“Pusf!” He barked to dark coloured princess as he continued to pull.

Deirdre
Deirdre was not a creature that asked for help and the fact that she did so now was a testimen to just how weary she was. She grimaced as each desperate contraction wracked her. It was likely that a similar complication may have had more serious consequences for any a more ordinary mother and foal, but Deirdre had altogether ceased being ordinary. She had a gift. A light on loan.
Deirdre puffed and strained as Madigan set to work, the weighty press of his hoof on her haunch granted her more comfort than she’d ever be able to express in words. It renewed her resolve just enough for one last effort. “Hurry,” she panted. The dark doe was not any sort expert in the art of midwifery, and neither was Madigan, but something intangible and inaudible told her that time was not their ally and inaction was no longer a choice.
A second pearlescent colored foot appeared shortly and was rapidly followed by the rest of the fawn. It was a noticeably large foal, something you might expect to be the product of two behemoth parents. Unlike Marrok, who was born looking like a lanky wolf, this child had sturdy limbs, broad shoulders, hefty haunches, and a face the bore mother’s unmistakable imprint. But it was not parental resemblance that was the most striking attribute of this new wobbling life. Even still shrouded in afterbirth it was readily apparent that this little one was remarkably pale. No, it was more than pale, pure white.
Deirdre’s head flopped limply to the ground, too exhausted to even look back see what manner of creature she had just given birth to. “Is he alright?”

Madigan
Mad backed away a few steps. He was stunned by the image of the child that lay before him, so much so that the liquid birth he’d stuck his mouth into dripped from his lips a few moments before he had presence of mind to spit. Deirdre panted, but there was no word on her foal for even longer as the stag took time to clear his mouth. After a moment he looked back to Deirdre’s face -- a roguish twinkle in his yellow eye.
“‘E mussa goh scuffed onna way out,” Maddy told her, shaking his head slightly, “‘E ain’t goh no bits. Issa li’l gurl, Dei…”
Mad paused again to look down at what he thought must be his daughter, since to his knowledge no one else had yet been strong enough of will or daring enough in spirit to cover the coal-coated princess of Glenmore. But then there was no doe or stag in his line, not for generations, who came out so perfectly pale. So pearlescent white from tip to tail.
Maddy had been pleased but reluctant that first time he’d found himself a father. He’d been fairly removed from that birth, having a colt delivered to him when no suitable explanation for his existence could be had. The second time he’d become a father he had been proud, but wary. The utilitarian frame of mind he’d had for everything and everyone at that time had characterized his view of his second born boy. He had his heir, and his spare, and a fine anvil on which to make more. This time, however, Maddy looked upon the next in his line with nothing but pleasure. With gleeful awe. This was proof positive, as far as the stag was concerned, that the gods blessed his activity. They approved his work and were prepared to christen his family as new royalty -- The Needle’s own.
“An’ she’s goh yer eyes.”

---------------------

I'm only 4 months late finishing this. RIP.

All little thing between myself and JackalsGrin , welcoming little Lu.

WC-

Deirdre: 857
Mad: 837

Description

Featuring Deirdre and Madigan Madian
Introducing Luiseach Madain
Early Spring 771 of the New Age
The Needle, Glenmore

Deirdre
It was different this time. The first time she had carried a fawn she had felt a mire of regret, certain that the hot-blooded impulse to allow The Dain to cover her had been an egregious mistake. She had kept stalwartly to herself, determined to show no weakness, and to prove that despite being swollen with his spawn that she was as capable and as ferocious as ever. She would not be just a mere harem doe, or just another notch on this year’s rack. But the season between their first entanglement to the more recent, and the meddling of more divine forces had tempered Deirdre’s feelings toward Madigan Madain. He had come to represent something more than a bothersome booty call. While she still had a penchant for threatening back legs and dirty looks, she literally lit up when he was near her. The easy way she brushed his shoulder with hers, casually lopped a tail over his back, or gave a playful bite indicated that much of the irritable posturing was just for show.
She was brightly shining the majority of the time these days, as she preferred to stay close to the heavy stag when she could. Deirdre’s ever-present luminosity was practically a beacon to prying eyes and she was ever worried that the wrong eyes might see her and deliver the news to the wrong sets of ears. Those that carried light magic were coveted by the glade rats, and an anomaly like Deirdre would almost certainly be taken captive or killed. Unwilling to have her freedom snatched away by the crown, The Ram had offered it to The Dain for safekeeping, choosing him to watch her back when she could not. It was a lot for a notoriously independent and headstrong fawnling to lay at the feet of another.
It was a decision she was glad she had made, especially as her belly ballooned, full of what she was certain would be another handsome hardy son, and her finely honed reflexes slowed and a portion of her very considerable strength went to the task of growing a new life. She had become prone to sighs and long admiring glances. Without even realizing she had all but settled into the position of harem doe, and The Ram would happily maul anyone who dared point it out.
When it became apparent that the time of her delivery was imminent Madigan was the first she had called on, whether he hung around or not it was entirely up to him. Deirdre’s labor with Marrok had been easy and the pup slipped into the world without drama. This new colt seemed extraordinarily reluctant to leave the confines of his mother’s womb in spite of the black doe’s forceful insistence.
Deirdre laboured through the morning, afternoon and long into the night. As the starlight gave way to the rosy glow of the pre-dawn it was becoming readily apparent that both mother and baby were tiring and rather than presenting with a foot and a petit nose the night’s efforts had only produced a pearly white hind foot and a curly little tuft of tail. Deirdre lay prone in the sparse shelter of The Needle’s coarse grasses, her mane hung limp and her sides were crusted with dried perspiration. The radiance that had once blanketed her, and likely preserved both her and the child had faded to a meager flicker.
“Help me dammit.” the doe croaked out wearily.

Madigan
Maddy was not a traditional stag, or at least didn’t consider himself one. While tendrils of the Glenmore way snuck into his thoughts and perceptions by times, he never looked at Deirdre and considered her a doe that he possessed or a glade ornament. He did, however, marvel at his own ability to grow her from a log-hauling dark coat into a princess. It was certainly something he had greatly contributed to, if not outright caused, because to The Dain it could only been his lifting Deirdre up, empowering her, and challenging her to be part of the family that would have ever made a god take notice. No one, not even the divine, would have eyes enough to see her as she had been. But as she now was? What a sight to behold. A unique blend of misfit and princess. Of dark and light. Doe and stag. Mad had helped her to realise that, and the more she seemed to appreciate it the happier he was.
Madigan enjoyed having Dei hanging around him more. He had come to stay with her and the pup in her home on a couple of occasions. He had always invaded Deirdre’s life just a little more than she was prepared to allow, and once she had opened up to him more fully she would find that Mad transitioned from boyfriend-held-at-rack-length to whatever-we-are-now quite naturally. He was subtley pushy, persistently invasive, never took ‘get away from me’ for an answer, and was relentlessly charming in a mush-mouth sort of way. And Deirdre, she was bullheaded and mean but she took orders and rose to every challenge. She had a soft side, and a hard side, and Maddy liked to be on both.
They were getting deep under each other's skin, that was for certain.
The stag had lingered around for Deirdre's labour, much as he had the first time. Unlike Marrok’s birth where he had been forced to slink around the shadows like a lean fox waiting to make off with whatever birth-scrap it could, this time Mad was allowed to be present. He had watched the early bits with keen yellow eyes and some interest. Then he’d fallen asleep for a while. It was Deirdre and not dawn that woke him, however.
The big black stag’s eyes burst open as the doe’s strained croaking rended his sleep in half. Suddenly bolt awake he saw the black doe still laying on her side and still straining to push out his spare. Maddy didn’t even have time to be curious about the whiteness of the leg tiredly twitching behind Deirdre, nor did he have time to be grossed out by the task at hand.
“Oi goh it,” he told her quickly as he lunged to her side, “Oi goh it!”
Mad grabbed onto his second born and began pulling. Mouthful of scrawny leg, then haunch, and all manner of fluid. The big stag eventually set a hoof on Dei’s haunch and continued to tug on the struggling new life.
“Pusf!” He barked to dark coloured princess as he continued to pull.

Deirdre
Deirdre was not a creature that asked for help and the fact that she did so now was a testimen to just how weary she was. She grimaced as each desperate contraction wracked her. It was likely that a similar complication may have had more serious consequences for any a more ordinary mother and foal, but Deirdre had altogether ceased being ordinary. She had a gift. A light on loan.
Deirdre puffed and strained as Madigan set to work, the weighty press of his hoof on her haunch granted her more comfort than she’d ever be able to express in words. It renewed her resolve just enough for one last effort. “Hurry,” she panted. The dark doe was not any sort expert in the art of midwifery, and neither was Madigan, but something intangible and inaudible told her that time was not their ally and inaction was no longer a choice.
A second pearlescent colored foot appeared shortly and was rapidly followed by the rest of the fawn. It was a noticeably large foal, something you might expect to be the product of two behemoth parents. Unlike Marrok, who was born looking like a lanky wolf, this child had sturdy limbs, broad shoulders, hefty haunches, and a face the bore mother’s unmistakable imprint. But it was not parental resemblance that was the most striking attribute of this new wobbling life. Even still shrouded in afterbirth it was readily apparent that this little one was remarkably pale. No, it was more than pale, pure white.
Deirdre’s head flopped limply to the ground, too exhausted to even look back see what manner of creature she had just given birth to. “Is he alright?”

Madigan
Mad backed away a few steps. He was stunned by the image of the child that lay before him, so much so that the liquid birth he’d stuck his mouth into dripped from his lips a few moments before he had presence of mind to spit. Deirdre panted, but there was no word on her foal for even longer as the stag took time to clear his mouth. After a moment he looked back to Deirdre’s face -- a roguish twinkle in his yellow eye.
“‘E mussa goh scuffed onna way out,” Maddy told her, shaking his head slightly, “‘E ain’t goh no bits. Issa li’l gurl, Dei…”
Mad paused again to look down at what he thought must be his daughter, since to his knowledge no one else had yet been strong enough of will or daring enough in spirit to cover the coal-coated princess of Glenmore. But then there was no doe or stag in his line, not for generations, who came out so perfectly pale. So pearlescent white from tip to tail.
Maddy had been pleased but reluctant that first time he’d found himself a father. He’d been fairly removed from that birth, having a colt delivered to him when no suitable explanation for his existence could be had. The second time he’d become a father he had been proud, but wary. The utilitarian frame of mind he’d had for everything and everyone at that time had characterized his view of his second born boy. He had his heir, and his spare, and a fine anvil on which to make more. This time, however, Maddy looked upon the next in his line with nothing but pleasure. With gleeful awe. This was proof positive, as far as the stag was concerned, that the gods blessed his activity. They approved his work and were prepared to christen his family as new royalty -- The Needle’s own.
“An’ she’s goh yer eyes.”

---------------------

I'm only 4 months late finishing this. RIP.

All little thing between myself and JackalsGrin , welcoming little Lu.

WC-

Deirdre: 857
Mad: 837