Through the smoke, Kerrs and Donnachaidhs crashed together like waves of a violent storm. The sound of fang, claw, and steel consumed the great hall.

Duncan boomed through the racket, "Tormod! Get Cay and Finn to safety NOW!"

"Aye Duncan, I'll guard them with my life!" he shouted back to the Lynx. A swirl of sharp wind surrounded Tormod as he cried out with a banshee-like wail. He maintained eye contact with Duncan as he transformed, the auburn hair disseminating from his head and dominating his body. His eyes burst with power as the stag arose, two fierce antlers pierced his skull weaving and twisting intricately into the air.

Tormod spotted a blood-soaked wolf dash from the fog, bearing its fangs towards the Great Lynx, "DUNCAN IN FRONT OF YE! " he barked to warn the Chief of the incoming attacker. Duncan dodged to the left and then used his momentum to slash his bladed paw at the wolf. It howled as his claw tore down its torso, decorating the floor of the hall with its innards.

He quickly surveyed the room and spotted a wolf mounted on top of one of his clansmen. The wolf gnashed its fangs, trying to dislodge the sword Baltair had stuck between its teeth. Baltair strained and struggled as he wrestled the beast, barely able to see from the thick drool lashing from its open maw. Duncan immediately pounced on the wolf, pulverizing its neck with his powerful jaws. It did not even have time to whimper before its life was destroyed and cast aside by the Chief.

"Sound the horn Baltair," growled Duncan, now standing where the wolf was. Baltair nodded and scurried between the Chief's legs off into the throng.

Behind him, Cayla snatched her child from the basket and leapt onto the Mighty Stag, holding on tightly to the thick coat behind its neck. Grunting affirmatively, Tormod charged toward the horde with his head down. Nothing could stand in his way as he bulldozed through the Kerr wolves at an almighty pace, heading straight for the large wooden doors which led to the outside.

Sgreuch was busy fighting two smaller lynx and an armed Clansman but sensed the stag before it was too late, throwing one of his comrades in the way of Tormod's charge. The wolf was harpooned by the giant antlers and carried off howling through the enormous doors in a blaze of auburn.

Knowing he would be unable to pursue the stag he grumbled at Bocan and Droch, "After him, he has the Chief's wee one... kill it... kill them all!"

The two brothers turned, each with a dismembered limb of a Donnaodch hanging in their frothing mouths. They dropped the arm and leg of the slaughtered Clansman and bolted in pursuit of their target. Fueled with the raging euphoria of the hunt, only imminent death awaited the prey of the brothers.

*****

A horn bellowed from the depths of the Castle and into the bitter night. Firmin and his men looked up into the shaking canopy above them as disturbed crows cawed and took flight. The Englishmen littered the base of the forest surrounding Dunalastair Castle, waiting for the signal to move. Firmin stood closest to the Castle gate with the advance party, clinching the trunk of a pine tree nervously. It had been 10 minutes already and nothing could be heard apart from the distant ping of steel.

Athelstan stood at the bottom of the hill close to the village of Kinloch, surrounded by his usual retinue of steel soldiers. He humphed in a dissatisfied manner, "why have the Kerrs not given the signal yet?" he pondered whilst looking up at Dunalastair. He too heard the bellow from the castle, but that was nowhere close to the howl of a wolf. He did not dawn his signature attire this night, he was smarter than that; wearing golden armour during an ambush was a sure way to be targeted by a lone archer hiding in the dense thicket of the forest.

His plain armour shone as pale as the face of a corpse in the ambient moonlight that broke through the tree cover, providing sufficient camouflage for the King. A wind flew past Athelstan like a dashing horse, whipping up the loose foliage at his feet. He turned and squinted in the darkness, finding a two-man gap in his rearguard. Another violent gale suddenly blew past, he looked ahead this time and one of the front men had also disappeared. Realizing what was happening he drew his sword and shouted out into the forest "MEN DRAW YOUR SWORDS, WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!"

A lynx sprung hissing from the shadows at Athelstan, he instinctively side-stepped and swung his enormous sword, removing both forelegs of the cat. He met his gaze with the beast, savouring the fear in its eyes before piercing the Donnachaidh clansmen through the skull. He twisted the blade before ripping it out of the Lynx's cranium, cleaning the length of his sword on the fur coat of the sullied beast. The horn had sounded the Donnachaidh reinforcements, this was bad news for the King's army. Fighting in the dark against an enemy force equipped with the unrivalled nocturnal vision put them at a considerable disadvantage.

"ADVANCE TO THE CASTLE," he shouted to Godwin and the remaining guards, realizing the diminishing odds of victory in the forest. Chaos had enveloped the Rannoch woods, creating an entanglement of man and beast. The screams of war ricochet around the trees, drowning out any possibility of holding a conversation. The English army could not hear the King's commands and without direction would likely fight where they stood. Athelstan grabbed hold of Godwin and screamed in his ear, "GET ME UP THAT HILL TO FIRMIN... THAT IS AN ORDER." He pointed furiously up the hill in case his Knight had not caught the message. It was a long way up the winding path to the castle, Godwin froze temporarily as he considered the gravity of the situation. The Knight Guards moved into a spearhead formation around the King as they fought their way up the hill towards Firmin and the advance party.

The path was only the width of three men shoulder to shoulder, but it provided enough space for two of the rear guards to fire off arrows at some slower-moving targets. Some of the Donnachaidh clansmen preferred to fight in their human forms but proved easy to be taken out by an accurate archer. The Lynx, however, were completely unpredictable. Darting nimbly through the trees, only their luminescent eyes gave them away as they pounced at the Knight's throats. Athelstan knew he had marched 5000 men to Rannoch woods, outnumbering his foe five to one, but these were Donnachaidh woods.

The guerrilla tactics of the Clansmen had sent chaos through the English ranks and spread their numbers thin throughout the sprawling wood. Athelstan continued to move hurriedly up the hill, his chest burned an icy fire from the frozen air and his legs grew heavy from the steel plates bound to them. He could hear the bloodied screams of his soldiers accompanied by the roars of the Lynx, however, he did not waver. "Men are replaceable," he thought as he painfully forced the dense air into his lungs. "I must survive and re-write my destiny."

Over Godwin's broad shoulder, Athelstan could suddenly see a dark mass of men rumble down the path towards them.

Godwin stood at the head of the formation, painted in both his blood and that of his enemies. His throat had been mauled by the claw of one of the Lynx, however, mustering the last of his strength, was able to give out an almighty shout, "IDENTIFY YOURSELVES!"

"Godwin?" replied the familiar voice uneasily. The tall shadow drew close enough to be identified as the Knight Commander, Firmin. "What the hell happened down there?" he continued.

Just as Godwin had drawn another breath to reply, Athelstan barged past and addressed Firmin. "We need to regain control immediately," he spat. "We need to get Kerr and his men into that Forrest... only the wolves have a chance at a fair fight down there."

"Yes my Liege," said Firmin obediently. "Then first we must get to the Castle and find the wolves."

Athelstan nodded affirmatively and began to march towards the castle. "And if we find that bastard Donnachaidh... I want his head."

*****

The battle isn't over yet.

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