Herbalists' Cache hoof cache

her smile tilts, slow and knowing, as if she’s savoring the very sight of him unraveling beneath her touch. well, that simply cannot do, can it? she murmurs, voice dipped in something warm, something coaxing. not mockery. no, never that. something closer to admiration, to the quiet praise he rarely hears but craves in secret.
when he leans in, pressing his weight against her, star eater exhales softly—a hitch, unbidden, catching in the hollow of her throat. she lets him have it, this closeness, this stolen comfort. lets him breathe her in as though it might steady the fire beneath his ribs. her gaze flickers, cautious, scanning their surroundings as though the wind itself might whisper of them. but there is no one. no one who matters.
her nose brushes along the edge of his ear, her breath delicate where it spills against the dark velvet there. i would never ask you to be complacent, she whispers, the words meant only for him, like the night air between them. but it is only before me that you yield so viciously. there’s a smile in the curve of her mouth as she says it, fond and edged in the history they share.
and then, quieter still, almost regretful, she finishes, she is simply not the woman for you.
her paw slides along the curve of his shoulder, as if to ground him, to remind him he is still here, still worthy, still seen. blackfell, she says, his true name soft as silk, a dragon is meant to be met with fire.