Fox's Glade i wanna fall through the stars

Through the meadow, into the Glade. Lyra moves with her, but a familiar scent in the wind gives Hydra brief pause. There is nothing so important to her now as finding Alya, and she would not be stopped in finding her. It would take her minutes to deduce what this scent was, and minutes longer to catch up to Lyra once she had—

And there it was. A pale figure in the distance, as handsome as she had made him out to be in her memory. He had not sought her out again, to her disappointment, but in finding his scent she had to be certain for herself he was alive, that he had made the decision for himself that Moonspear was not his path—she did not know that he had returned to seek her. 

To see him alive and well, then, wounded her a measure. She had thought that he had died. She believed the same of Riordan, who had left long ago and had not returned to her. Her tail lashed behind her as her ears pricked, her blue eyes not shifting from his form. If he did not see her yet, he likely would soon sense her unwavering attention. Hydra did not seek to hide it. She was ready to move on, but something kept her here for a while longer.