Something happened to her brain when danger neared. In retrospect, Finn's actions were always bold and usually worked out for the best, but not behavior in which a rational person would normally engage.
A rational person ran from danger, escaped from it, hid from it. In such moments, Finn became less than the paragon of rationality she aspired to be.
Today was such a time.
The day was warm and pleasant as spring had fully taken hold and was pressing into summer. The village children played by the stream to stay cool after the morning's chores and lessons.
With her bucket in hand to retrieve extra water (her mischievous younger brother had spilled what she'd drawn that morning), Finn neared the frolicking progeny of her friends and neighbors.
At least a dozen children danced, skipped rocks, or played chase along the edge of the stream's cool bank. Occasionally a misstep resulted in a small splash and uproarious giggles. Finn smiled, spotting her brother amidst the groupings.
Since her mother had died giving birth to him, he and their father had become Finn's world. At a mere 17, she kept the house and garden and took care of all those little motherly tasks that go unnoticed until no one does them. The mothers of the village all proclaimed she'd made a fine wife if some lucky man could lure her away from her father and brother.
She had no immediate plans for that to happen. She was too comfortable and happy the way things were to go about changing them now. Besides, she was needed.
"Careful Gabe!" She called to the 6 year old as he stumbled over a tree root. He was beginning to feel too old to play with the 'little' kids, but hadn't quite mastered the coordination to keep up with the older ones. His precociousness was liable to get him hurt if not tempered.
"Yeeess Serafina," he responded in the most condescending tone his childish voice could muster. Her mouth twisted into a half-smile, unsure whether to chide him for his mild disrespect or be amused by his efforts at appearing grown up.
Deferring to the latter, she gave him a jaunty little salute and a full smile which he begrudgingly, but sincerely returned.
He was a good boy, all things considered. A bit wild perhaps, but kind at heart and generally eager to help. Finn worked hard to cultivate a gentleness in him to water down the fiery nature they both acquired by virtue of genetics and motherlessness. Gabriel's passionate little heart reacted strongly to all circumstances, whether in jubilant adoration of his friends, or fierce anger at perceived injustice.
Steadying his moods was one of Finn's greatest challenges in the household, as she also at times struggled to maintain a character of calm, reasonable dependability.
Her other great challenge was singlehandedly keeping two active males well fed and properly clothed. The number of rips in the knees of Gabriel's trousers was absurd, and Finn's fingers bore the callouses of sewing and patching by firelight. Father, as well, worked hard in the fields and orchards and wore through clothing at an incredible rate.
What time she didn't spend cleaning, cooking, gardening, and sewing was spent dreaming. Often, the dreaming interwove the other main parts of her life. It was easy to dream while mending, although the occasional bloody fingertip would disagree. Cooking as well, since Finn was highly practiced at all her recipes and hardly needed to put her full attention into it anymore.
Her daydreams varied widely. Sometimes she envisioned a mysterious stranger disrupting the calm of their little hamlet, other times a long journey to the sea or deep into the mountains for adventure.
Sometimes trivial things occupied her thoughts, like constructing a witty retort to throw at her neighbor's son Riley next time he decided to make fun of the size of their chickens or a missed stitch in the blankets she knitted. Ironically, most of the missed stitches in her knitting were due to those very daydreams.
Shifting the bucket to her other hand, Finn scolded herself that she hadn't made Gabe draw more water himself after he'd spilled this morning's supply. He was strong enough now as a strapping young boy, though admittedly a full bucket could be heavy for the walk home. Good discipline mandated that he be made to atone for his mistakes, within his ability to do so.
However, he was so excited to see his friends that his eyes welled up when he realized he might be delayed by an additional, unexpected chore.
Caving to her softer side, Finn had let him run ahead and play instead of making him replace the water, just this time. Sometimes discipline included mercy. She could use the walk anyway, she justified to herself; it got a bit stuffy in the house this time of day.
She smiled again at the children when her eyes shifted up the hill to movement near the tree line on the other side of the stream. A startled bird flapped frantically from the underbrush up into the branches of the oak trees, calling out a chilling cry that sent Finn's eyes back down to the brush to locate the source of the unrest.
Stepping closer to the children that stood between herself and the stream, a sinking feeling gripped her middle.
Finn scanned along the bushes until she saw a pair of yellow eyes flash as they caught the light in the dappled shade of a tree. A howl pierced the air, joined by others until Finn's blood ran cold and the children froze as if suddenly paralyzed.
Wolves.