Herbalists' Cache ticking time

star eater's smile is slow, knowing. she does not glance at the chieftain again, does not need to—her words carry the weight of her certainty.
it is not about need, she murmurs, voice smooth as she turns back to the hides, rummaging with practiced ease. it is about power. the larger the hide, the bigger the accomplishment.
her fingers trace over each pelt with purpose, before plucking one from the pile—a grand thing, white as snow with a bold black stripe running down its back. she lays it before nagruk, letting it settle between them like an offering, for her.
he builds a snow shelter. a birthing den.
her tone is casual, but there is something in the way she says it, the way her eyes gleam beneath half-lowered lids, watching for nagruk’s reaction.
then, she moves closer.
there is no hesitation, no uncertainty. she steps into nagruk’s space with the ease of a woman accustomed to being obeyed, to being followed. her breath ghosts along the other’s fur as she scents her, slow, indulgent, before her nose presses to the curve of nagruk’s cheek—featherlight, almost teasing, almost inviting.
a touch that lingers, before she pulls back just enough to meet her eyes.