Herbalists' Cache fever to the form

He came right to her, wordless and obedient; greedily drinking in her cloying piquancy as quickly as she offered it. The man stood over her and tasted her scent with his cool, onyx-tipped nose, but touch her? He did not! It was no matter; he did not need to touch her, for she was one of those plasma lightning balls and he was the hand that hovered menacingly nearby —  just his presence was enough to stir her soul and whip her energy up in colorful currents of electricity. How she wished to linger there, with his sweet mouth mere inches away from her flesh of her lower back; but, eventually, the man broke apart and settled to look upon her from afar.

The disappointment Olive felt was all consuming! A whisper of a groan graced her lips and her rosebud tongue darted out to trace the fine lines of her maw, cleaning away any semblance of unhappiness. She would not dare risk this divine gift by appearing ungrateful — no, she was very, very, very, very, very grateful. The druid lacked the ability to see through the fog to know what the future may hold, but she knew this felt good right then and she wanted the stranger to know. 

Olive returned the strength of his heavy-handed gaze for only a moment before breaking and letting her attentions, very obviously, wander his body. His form was hardened from hard work, his pelt paler than hers; he was handsome, she deduced. Olive had known this information before, of course, since this was their meeting thrice, but at the moment she was able to appreciate it in a way that was simply… impossible, otherwise. She felt his handsomeness to her very core. He was her nameless muse, and she wanted to sing to the heavens, or paint the stars, for all the wonders it did her! A tremor visibly snaked down Olive’s spine; in her unsteady state, the ground felt very nurturing and supportive, so she relished in her place upon the wintered earth.
 
Then, without much thought, the feverish shewolf rolled to her back and tucked her forelimbs up into her breast. She pressed the top of her head against the cool dirt and stared up at him, as if this were an entirely normal thing to do. “You’re too far…” she mourned from this new supine position, punctuating her comment with a very low, very sincere whine.