"So are you, Skellig," she tells him. She tilts her head back, to let him sniff as closely as he likes, or taste.

"Can't recall precisely what's in it," she murmurs, running fingers through his hair. "Different than the incense in the temple, as I recall. Something in the formula of this smelled DREADFUL when it was burned." There's laughter in her eyes, which suggests a funny story there. "Cinnamon, cloves, some kind of tree resin." Probably frankincense.