Flax retts stalks of flax, and dries them out, and scutches them, and sorts out the proceeds of this operation, and repeats it. She whistles sometimes. She's not good at it, but she's usually working alone - other people are better at the spinning and weaving parts than her and they usually work inside. So nobody tells her to stop.
She doesn't notice the war at all. None of it happens out in the field. If there's some guys shouting and casting spells at each other somewhere it's not somewhere she can hear. Her instructions don't change, so she retts flax and dries it and scutches it and sorts it and the fiber goes to the spinners and everything else goes into bags to be sold to the paper mill or into the fire.
So she doesn't have any reason to be any less than totally flabbergasted when someone appears and they're looking for her.
