Haha, yeah. It’s hard to write just after big events like that, cause you always have to assume that certain things went down. P:
Finn’s attention was drawn immediately towards the source of the voice who intruded, not at all unwelcomingly, on her thoughts. Blinking a little to combat the false darkness caused by staring too long at a bright light, Finn smiled wryly and said, “Not to fear, you’re not interrupting much,” So easily she became enmeshed in her thoughts these days that sometimes it felt like stepping into a labyrinth. A nicely ordered labyrinth, well lit and with plenty of directions, but cavernous all the same. And every labyrinth was sure to have a minotaur.
In this case, it was the one thing Finn could not remember, and simultaneously prodded at like a sore tooth and shied away from as if it had horns. She knew it was there, or rather, not there; a piece of the great puzzle that made up her life had been misplaced, though how large a piece and how important she could not say. Perhaps it had simply been a boring, summer afternoon, serenaded by the satisfied humming of fat bumblebees, or a winter night just like all the rest, cold, pale and endless. Something so profoundly uneventful that it had simply blended into the surrounding tapestry. Perhaps she was just getting old, a thought that almost made the she-wolf frown.
The darkness of the rest of the kitchen had finally come to light, and Finn took in the new arrival with her usual benevolent expression and intense, memorizing eyes. This one was tall, quite tall, and gave the impression of steadfastness. Finn prided herself on her ability to read into a wolf’s general nature by their stance and posture, though she was a less adept at reading luperci. This one, this woman, however, strongly exuded a certain solidness of personality that was reassuring to see. Finn couldn’t help but admire her glossy black pelt and smooth curves. By comparison she felt quite ugly and brittle. Finn had never been much of a looker, life had seen to that rather quickly in her case, so it was something of a fascination and a sore point to see a wolf so pretty and well put together.
“Ah well, I’m honoured by the thanks, Caprica, but I’d do it again for nothing. I’d never willingly see a child come to harm.” Finn said, shifting slightly as a particularly large bruise on her elbow began to throb. “If Judas and Severus are your brothers, that would make you Naniko’s child, am I correct?” Finn enquired politely. The sight of the three young wolves, reassuring each other in the way that only siblings could, once the bear had been slain had brought a wistful smile to Finn’s lips.
It reminded her of the family she had left, though this family here put hers to shame. Her father and her eldest brother were not the most kindly of wolves. That left her and Brom to cling to each other like leaves in a gale, hoping with the simple, straightforwardness of children that if they stuck together they’d come out of the storm relatively whole and unharmed. To her infinite sorrow, if hadn’t ended up as they had planned. Finn briefly entertained the thought of her brother, living here in Anathema beside her, before it became too searingly painful to hold.
“It is a nice thought, to believe I am a part of a family,” Finn agreed, distracting herself with her own words, “Though by nature I am unused to such camaraderie. I have experienced far too little of it in my past.” She found this whole custom of Anathema’s intriguing, entirely due to its alienness. A whole pack of canines bound together by blood and friendship… It was somewhat unheard of, at least to her. Finn’s father and uncles had been close, if that was the right word for it, but it was not close in a familial sense. More close in a, “lets band up and subjugate the neighbouring valley together” sort of sense.
“I am Finn Fidh,” She said, ”And it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The she-wolf rose, abandoning the book behind to sit nearer to Caprica. She was not longer in the mood for trying to decipher that mess of scrawlings anyway. Talking was a far more enjoyable pastime than the mental equivalent of beating your head against a wall. “Have you lived here in Anathema long, Caprica?”