Fairspell Meadow Come to me now and lay your hands over me

From behind a rotting berry bush, the rogue watched, lying in wait for unsuspecting prey.  

She had been there for some time now, and her claws were beginning to grind anxiously into the dirt. Not a single thing had gone by her yet, leaving Scorpion wanting for a chase. She was perhaps even a little desperate, since it had been a full sunrise since her last successful catch, and she was starting to get annoyed by the streak of bad luck. She couldn’t remember the last time she had missed her mark this many times in a row.

Something had thrown her off her game, she figured, but before she could decide exactly what that was, a dark figure entered her peripheral. Scorpion alighted the tall wolf with her eyes, and watched in horror as he came to stand on the meadow’s precipice, threatening to disturb the peace she had so patiently cultivated. The undarling virago barely managed not to lash her tail in annoyance.

As she waited on bated breath to harshly judge his advance, the brisk wind suddenly changed directions and brushed over her, wafting undoubtedly towards the hunted hunter. She could only hope the added perfume of overripe berries was enough to conceal her...