Firefly Glen seem to paint a red line

@Ying

there's a smell, somewhere near. it's sharp and pungent and strange, and seemingly has no source. occasionally, the breeze will bring her a few seconds of the scent from which to try and pinpoint the source; but it is ever-shifting, changing. the girl snorts, frustrated with her efforts, and realizes then that the fruitless hunt has taken her to the far side of the glen she'd come to frequent. 

it'll take her an hour, two, to cross over the border again. with the sun taking a swan dive over the horizon, she estimates most of the journey back will be in darkness. one final whiff of the mystery scent just to irritate her, and then she steers herself back toward the south.