Dora Donagal has always felt slightly out of phase with her own life. Growing up in a storm-washed corner of the Oregon coast—daughter of a logger, granddaughter of an Irish mystic—she can’t shake the sense that the forest is trying to tell her something. During a brutal Pacific storm she’s driven off the familiar trail and stumbles into a hidden clearing, where a black, moss-grown standing stone waits, carved with faint spirals and humming under her palm.
Drawn back on All Hallows, Dora discovers the stone is more than an odd rock: it’s a threshold. Stepping through, she’s flung into an ancient Druid grove in Celtic lands, where oaks, yews, and stones are treated as elder kin. There she meets Brannagh, Cian, Eira, Talies and the other keepers of a “threefold path” of Bard, Ovate, and Druid. They recognize Dora as a rare “door-walker” and begin to train her—not to escape her world, but to see it differently.
Dora learns word-magic and song, how to read weather, birds, and dreams, and how power flows from right relationship rather than control. In healing rites around the fire she faces buried family wounds and the generational fear that has kept her half outside her own life. A soul-friend bond with apprentice Druid Finn shows her what it means to be truly seen—and to carry responsibility without pretending to be a hero.
A great Council of Stones reveals that her Oregon monolith is part of a global web of “memory stones” dimming as humans treat land as resource, not relative. Entrusted with a quiet seal in her heart, Dora returns home.
Back in the rain and fog, she begins small: morning greetings to ditch and tree, story nights, forest walks. When an old-growth cut threatens the hill, her devotion deepens into grounded activism, and the Standing Stone slowly becomes a shared, living temple—a bridge of song between ages, lands, and hearts.