Swiftcurrent Creek tongue-tickling bubble juice

wow! So, that’s what it was like! Up until now, Olive had spent her life in eternal pacifism, consecrated to solve the world’s evils with love and respect, not with weapons and poison. It wasn’t that difficult for her, either. For the most part, she was happy to do it; any violent impulses the druid experienced were limited to her periodic depressive episodes, and usually turned upon herself when in the pits of her despair. Prostration, however, was different than this. It wasn’t so much rage as it was frustration, jumping out at the nearest target; the closest creature that stood in her way and made her life more difficult and unpleasant for no dang reason. For no reason! It was just unfair! 

Her fangs found purchase and honestly, she was surprised. The waif would never kid herself by saying that she maintained any semblance of fighting prowess; no, her skills were a more intellectual kind. She had never fought or sparred before. Hell, she never even really played with her brothers as a cub. Oh, the mouthfeel of the brute’s thick skin, rolling in her jaws, felt foreign and creepy and alive; almost as immediately as she latched on, Olive parted her maw and surrendered her grip. However, it was no matter — there was a rush of limbs, a collision with the earth, and a sonorous ringing in her hears that vibrated outwards and racked her entire body. The brute swatted her down as if she were the aforementioned insect buzzing around the aforementioned meat.

The breath had rushed from her body and she gasped to regain it, all the time flinching and cowering into the ground, tail pressed closely to her rump and trembling between her legs. Olive expected pain, next; she expected to feel his teeth upon her, or his talons to rake across her face as the Blackfeather matron had one done, and she knew it was going to hurt and that she deserved it. She always deserved it. The things that came to her were not a mistake, but a destiny of her own making — for these things, she could do nothing but take her punishment. Olive could not close her eyes, wild and swimming with fear… but retribution never came. 

The fae held her breath in her chest, creating a container; she feared any sound or movement she made might tip the beast over the edge.... but the second she realized he wasn’t going to do anything was the very same second that she scrambled from beneath his grasp and darted several yards away, body held close to the ground, ready to leap away and use her speed in order to flee should the man try to accost her again. He told her to go and Olive replied with a lift of her lips and a feline hiss, ears splayed hard against the nape of her neck. How disgusting! How dare he attack a woman! How could he use his teeth against her — even if she had started it? He caused her harm, and wished her even more — oh, why did so many people do that? To Olive, it didn’t make any sense. She was good! Her voice, usually downy and breathless, came sharp. “oh my god! What — WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN?” as she screamed at him, all sense of decorum lost long ago, she readied herself to make an hasty exit, if it was needed.