could smell him. The tang of fear-sweat was there, but it wasn’t unpleasant. And underneath it was something warm and soft, something that made me want to draw his scent into my lungs and hold it there. It reminded me of lokl, a dessert that was always served in the colder months in Thinir, made of fruit stewed in aromatics and piled on top of a light doughy cake studded with chunks of candied salted meat.
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