Herbalists' Cache fever to the form

The spiced woman had been thoroughly distracted with her goings-on, relishing at how the movement stoked that fire in her belly and soothed the breathlessness she felt in her chest. Her body, against their frozen milieu, ran hot in a feverish way. Olive knew of plants, but not of healing, so this was the best remedy that her mind could possibly conceive through the thick miasma. How long was her season to happen, and was this be how she spent the entirety of that period?  Olive would not deign to cower within a den [not when the earth felt this good against her belly and the air tasted so sweet in her lungs; a little taste of summertime, in the dead of winter], but she could not continue wandering in such unrequited fire!

She needed the love of a man, and she needed it more than she needed her next breath. Olive had never been known to pray for love, but here the druid briefly beseeched the gods, for this salacity was clearly their doing and she only wished to please them! And, as they always were, the gods were quick to give her what she wanted — when they were not so quickly taking away — but, in this moment, they provided!  A chuff, a choir of angels! Olive leant her small frame to the side, looking over her shoulder to glimpse the nameless man from before. Oh, she had thought of him after their meeting. Oh, his smile had been stuck in her mind for days! Oh, how delightful was this?

“oh,” the shewolf uttered in a hushed tone, suddenly unable to find her voice. She did not know what else to say. For once, words could not do her wants justice! Instead, the shrouded sylph looked up at the man, starry-eyed, and drank in his masculine energy as if it were a most welcome drug. An appealing, entreating whine leaked from her sculpted maw — a betrayal of her own tongue, but it was something that could not be helped.