Firefly Glen zeal without knowledge is a runaway horse

She returned near the realm of Firefly Glen, a bit more disheveled for her misadventures, but no less spirited for it. Though there seemed to be endless prospects in these wilds for the course of Scorpion’s life, she seemed fixated on vetting one in particular: the nighthawk, @Antares.  

She’d made a nest, so to speak, far enough away to go undetected, yet close enough to watch their borders from. She would spend up to an hour there each day — watching, waiting, wanting for him to glide by. It had been some time since she had seen him on patrol alone, but this was likely due to her routine, which included hunting for hours on end before returning to her “bird’s nest” at an unpredictable time each day. Often she missed him entirely, and on the one occasion she had spotted him, he had not been alone.

Scorpion would not approach anyone else in the fold there. She would flee as soon as she caught wind of a scent that didn’t belong to him, and not return for the day, which also attributed to the length of time between their eventual meetings. This time, it was late afternoon at the flattened bit of ground she had worn down in her vigilance, and the rosewood sprite was on watch duty.