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Description
"Would you look at her?  Sweetheart, that's an odd outfit for a moonlight walk, not that we're complaining."
She had already forgotten that she had left her blouse behind.  It was starting to get cold and she crossed her arms.  "I…It's been a rough night."
The brothers exchanged a glance and looked back to her.  The left one scratched his chin.  "I'm inclined to agree," he said.
Something tickled her leg; it was irritating.  She wiped it away thinking it was a stray blade of grass but her hand came back glistening.  She stared at it, not understanding.
A deep voice interrupted, "Are you all right?"
"I'm tired.  It's a rough night."
They stepped close and something warm and heavy that smelled like woodsmoke and sweat draped suddenly over her shoulders.  The jacket's hem was well past her waist.
"Come on, then."
And she was lifted up.  Her last thought before the dark was not of her blood dripping on the dry grass, but of how nice it was that people could escape monsters.
They covered the ground quickly and two sets of eyes scanned all around for trouble.  They did not find any, for trouble had hidden itself low on the ground, stretched out and silent as it listened.  He slid back and crept away and fumed at the loss of his prize.

Porchlights swung and flickered as the men's heavy boots thumped up the steps.  The creak of the hinges roused her slightly but the rumbling of his (Finn's?  Caleb's?) chest as he spoke lulled her back to drowsy half-sleep.
"What sorta bastid did this, you think?"
"Those are grass cuts, Caleb."
"Aye."  He laid her on the old couch and placed a wadded grey sweatshirt under her head.  "But what bastid was she running from, Finn?  To leave cuts like these and leaving her shirt behind at that?"
"Don't know.  We've got her now anyways.  She'll talk when she wakes."
"And not before, so shut it and get me the medicine box."
They likely expected her to wake up when the antiseptic entered her cuts, and so she did.  But she kept her eyes closed and pretended not to feel anything.  It was too soon to face it all.  Band-aids were placed on her cuts; she felt the light drawing of the skin and the large calloused fingers of the man who put them there.
They used to flirt with her at the café, would ask her to go hunting rabbits and grouse.
One of them sometimes called her Bunny.
Their human decency apparently called them to help her.  If that failed, perhaps jealousy would work as well.  She put herself back to sleep with the happy thought of the brothers laying hands on her would-be killer.
As for the brothers themselves, there was no point in going to bed.  A fire was built, and Finn carved while Caleb read and they each watched the windows for the rest of the night.
In the darkness, footprints leading to and away from a small tree some few hundred yards from the house faded and vanished onto the grass.
The Hunter's Moon, being full, was on the wane.

The earthy smell of straight black coffee teased her awake even before the sunlight grew strong enough to register though closed eyelids.  Heavy steps accompanied low voices and the sizzling of bacon.  The familiar acrid smell made her stomach growl.
With a long soft sigh she sat up.  A blanket slipped partially off her legs and she slid out from under it to ease herself shakily up.  Everything was covered in the hazy confused feel that certain mornings hold.  The unfamiliar surroundings didn't help but she chose to be comforted by the browns and dark reds.
Birdsong caught her attention and she walked to a window.  She was looking for the robin when they found her.  Bare legs and a knee-length skirt, a man's heavy jacket half-sliding off her shoulders and held closed only by her hands, and standing in a patch of morning sunlight.
The two dogs whuffed and sniffed eagerly.  When she chuckled and patted their heads they pressed the advantage and begged for more.
The great Irish wolfhound leaned against her, his shaggy face grinning as she bolstered herself against the wall.  He was taller than some six-year children she knew.  The black lab refused to be ignored and she would have found herself well and truly caught had Finn not called out for her.
"Winnie!  Where'd you go?  Fergus, you lunkhead, leave the lady alone!  Beat it, mutt."  The wolfhound licked his master's hand and looked back to his new friend.
"You too, stupid."
The lab sneezed and would have ignored him, but Fergus growled a command and he chose the better part of valor and went to check his food dish for scraps.
Finn grinned at his guest.  "G'mornin."
"Good morning.  I like your dogs."
He chuckled.  It somehow made his craggy face more inviting.  "They're good enough.  Hungry?"
"Yes. Were you the one cooking bacon?  It smells pretty good."
"Tis but one of me many talents.  Get along inside now,  and we'll find you something to eat.  And wear," he added, finally noticing the limitations of his jacket.
There was nothing in that bachelor's house to properly fit a woman of Winter's size, but it was better to be overly covered than not covered at all.  She rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and happily ate the scrambled eggs he served.

Description
"Would you look at her?  Sweetheart, that's an odd outfit for a moonlight walk, not that we're complaining."
She had already forgotten that she had left her blouse behind.  It was starting to get cold and she crossed her arms.  "I…It's been a rough night."
The brothers exchanged a glance and looked back to her.  The left one scratched his chin.  "I'm inclined to agree," he said.
Something tickled her leg; it was irritating.  She wiped it away thinking it was a stray blade of grass but her hand came back glistening.  She stared at it, not understanding.
A deep voice interrupted, "Are you all right?"
"I'm tired.  It's a rough night."
They stepped close and something warm and heavy that smelled like woodsmoke and sweat draped suddenly over her shoulders.  The jacket's hem was well past her waist.
"Come on, then."
And she was lifted up.  Her last thought before the dark was not of her blood dripping on the dry grass, but of how nice it was that people could escape monsters.
They covered the ground quickly and two sets of eyes scanned all around for trouble.  They did not find any, for trouble had hidden itself low on the ground, stretched out and silent as it listened.  He slid back and crept away and fumed at the loss of his prize.

Porchlights swung and flickered as the men's heavy boots thumped up the steps.  The creak of the hinges roused her slightly but the rumbling of his (Finn's?  Caleb's?) chest as he spoke lulled her back to drowsy half-sleep.
"What sorta bastid did this, you think?"
"Those are grass cuts, Caleb."
"Aye."  He laid her on the old couch and placed a wadded grey sweatshirt under her head.  "But what bastid was she running from, Finn?  To leave cuts like these and leaving her shirt behind at that?"
"Don't know.  We've got her now anyways.  She'll talk when she wakes."
"And not before, so shut it and get me the medicine box."
They likely expected her to wake up when the antiseptic entered her cuts, and so she did.  But she kept her eyes closed and pretended not to feel anything.  It was too soon to face it all.  Band-aids were placed on her cuts; she felt the light drawing of the skin and the large calloused fingers of the man who put them there.
They used to flirt with her at the café, would ask her to go hunting rabbits and grouse.
One of them sometimes called her Bunny.
Their human decency apparently called them to help her.  If that failed, perhaps jealousy would work as well.  She put herself back to sleep with the happy thought of the brothers laying hands on her would-be killer.
As for the brothers themselves, there was no point in going to bed.  A fire was built, and Finn carved while Caleb read and they each watched the windows for the rest of the night.
In the darkness, footprints leading to and away from a small tree some few hundred yards from the house faded and vanished onto the grass.
The Hunter's Moon, being full, was on the wane.

The earthy smell of straight black coffee teased her awake even before the sunlight grew strong enough to register though closed eyelids.  Heavy steps accompanied low voices and the sizzling of bacon.  The familiar acrid smell made her stomach growl.
With a long soft sigh she sat up.  A blanket slipped partially off her legs and she slid out from under it to ease herself shakily up.  Everything was covered in the hazy confused feel that certain mornings hold.  The unfamiliar surroundings didn't help but she chose to be comforted by the browns and dark reds.
Birdsong caught her attention and she walked to a window.  She was looking for the robin when they found her.  Bare legs and a knee-length skirt, a man's heavy jacket half-sliding off her shoulders and held closed only by her hands, and standing in a patch of morning sunlight.
The two dogs whuffed and sniffed eagerly.  When she chuckled and patted their heads they pressed the advantage and begged for more.
The great Irish wolfhound leaned against her, his shaggy face grinning as she bolstered herself against the wall.  He was taller than some six-year children she knew.  The black lab refused to be ignored and she would have found herself well and truly caught had Finn not called out for her.
"Winnie!  Where'd you go?  Fergus, you lunkhead, leave the lady alone!  Beat it, mutt."  The wolfhound licked his master's hand and looked back to his new friend.
"You too, stupid."
The lab sneezed and would have ignored him, but Fergus growled a command and he chose the better part of valor and went to check his food dish for scraps.
Finn grinned at his guest.  "G'mornin."
"Good morning.  I like your dogs."
He chuckled.  It somehow made his craggy face more inviting.  "They're good enough.  Hungry?"
"Yes. Were you the one cooking bacon?  It smells pretty good."
"Tis but one of me many talents.  Get along inside now,  and we'll find you something to eat.  And wear," he added, finally noticing the limitations of his jacket.
There was nothing in that bachelor's house to properly fit a woman of Winter's size, but it was better to be overly covered than not covered at all.  She rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and happily ate the scrambled eggs he served.